


Soul Searching

by ShippingEverything



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: All hail the pagan god king, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Arthur is the pagan god king, F/M, M/M, Matthew just wants to not-live peacefully, Pagan Gods, Paganism, Soul Selling, This was a joke but then became an actual thing: the fic, Why is franada so low down in the pairing list? its the main ship in this thing, this is the longest thing ive ever been a part of writing wow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-09
Updated: 2015-06-14
Packaged: 2018-01-04 03:30:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 29,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1076003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShippingEverything/pseuds/ShippingEverything
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <b>DISCONTINUED</b>
</p><p>When push comes to shove, offer your soul to a pagan god king. At least, that was Matthew Williams’ philosophy when he fell in love with the betrothed knight Francis Bonnefoy.</p><p>Unfortunately for Matthew, who just wants to forget about his mortal life, Alfred has his heart set on being Matthew’s “hero”. Alfred rallies for Francis' help and the two rush off with the hope of saving Matthew, even if Matthew himself doesn't want to be saved.</p><p>Alternatively titled "Matthew has 99 problems and 97 of them could be solved if he made better relationship choices", <i>Soul Searching</i> tells you two stories for the price of one: Detailing Matthew's attempts to adjust to his afterlife, and showing the magnificent adventures of Alfred and Francis as they rush to "rescue" Matthew.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! So, before you start reading this, I'd like to tell you some things: 
> 
> 1\. This was co-written and beta'd by my darling moirail who doesn't have an ao3, so I'd like to direct your attention to her ff.net account [Iris Cornelia Jade](http://www.fanfiction.net/u/2345576) where you can find a nearly identical copy of this fic (the only differences would be minor grammar things and author notes), so go check it out if you're more ff.net-inclined
> 
> 2\. Franada isn't my otp. That said, my lovely co-author is in charge of directing me to make the Franada perf, and like 80% of the USUK aspects, so any complaints should be issued to her. I do, however, really really ship Spamano, and Gerita, so any complaints about the way those pairings are shown in this fic (especially the Spamano), can go to me. Any compliments regarding any part of this fic should also go to me, because I am more awesome then her.
> 
> 3\. There are going to be many sidepairings in this fic, but the main ones will be Franada (eventually), France/ Jeanne D'Arc, and USUK (We'll eventually get there okay). There will also be very minor Spamano, Gerita, Giripan, and Rome/ Germania.
> 
> 4\. This is really the most important one, so **read this if you read nothing else in this intro.** TO SEE THE TRANSLATION OF A WORD, HOVER OVER IT. It's this uber cool coding thing, and I'm definitely taking advantage of it~
> 
> I think that's all, so without further ado, I present "Soul Searching"!

“Are you sure?”

Matthew Williams stood before the council of pagan gods in a dimly lit room, arching a brow in disbelief.

“Isn’t that what I just fucking told you, bastard? The only way to get over your stupid crush is to offer your soul to the idiot pagan god king.” The god leading the council huffed, obviously irritated with having to repeat himself, “Hope you have a lot of fucking fun with that, the tea bastard is almost as annoying as the stupid tomato.”

A very audible sigh rippled through the chamber as a voice further in chirped, “Aw, don’t say that!” Squinting, Matthew could see another god that looked similar to the leader. “It really hurts ‘Tonio’s feelings, plus it’s kind of your fault that he’s stuck here anyway.”

The leader’s blush could be seen even in the low lighting, and he turned around to growl at the other person. “I don’t fucking think that anyone asked you your opinion, Feli. There’s a reason that you’re in the back.”

“I’m in the back so I can be with Ludwig!”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

Matthew blinked once. And then another time. And then three times. After quite a lot of blinking, Matthew elected to just ignore the exchange, “So… how do I get to this tea bastard slash god king slash whatever?”

As the leader opened his mouth to respond, a giant explosion of tea leaves filled the bottom left corner of the room. The overpowering smell of burning pastries assaulted Matthew’s nose as he reeled back, coughing. Suddenly, a darkness filled the room. When it had faded away, there was a resounding gasp that echoed down the hallway leading to the room.

... And a relatively normal-looking man was standing in front of Matthew.

Matthew heard the leader groan as the new man brushed off his suit jacket. “Oh hello there, you were wondering how to get ahold of the god king, yes?”

“Er, yeah. I kind of want to offer him my soul.”

“Oh! Well then, let’s see...” The man’s eyes lit up and he began to circle Matthew. There was a rather loud thump as one of the gods’ head hit the desk. “Hm, you seem to have kept your soul in nice shape. Almost golden as a matter of fact. There _are_ a few holes because of… ‘hockey fights’? No matter, it’s probably the best one that I’ve seen in a decade. Offer accepted!”

Matthew blinked. “You’re the god king?”

The man--the god king, apparently--huffed indignantly. “Well, of course! Did you expect it to one of those fools?” He gestured to the council as the council’s leader muttered under his breath and made rude hand gestures. The god king ignored him and offered a hand, “My name is Arthur Kirkland, pagan god king of the ages, and I’m honored to accept the donation of your immortal soul.”

Matthew took Arthur’s hand uneasily, “Um, the pleasure’s all mine, eh?”

Arthur’s eyes suddenly went dark. “Also, I heard what you called me, and I’d like to formally inform you that calling me ‘tea bastard’ will result in ten years at the seventh circle of hell.”

Almost automatically, Matthew pulled his hand away as the green fire returned to the god’s eyes--he suddenly seemed ten times more menacing. “Now, where were we? Oh yes, we just need to bring up the contract…”

As the god magicked a piece of paper out of midair, the shy man suddenly became apprehensive. Drawing back slightly, he coughed. “You’re collecting my soul… later, right? Like, when I die, you take my immortal soul and I go through indentured servitude for five years and then I’m free?”

“Hm? Of course, of course.” The god didn’t even take his eyes off the paper, conjuring an inky black quill and signing with a flourish, which really didn’t make Matthew feel any more secure. “Alright, I’m done, your turn. Read it for as long as you like.”

Matthew took the paper and it promptly unfolded down to his feet and out the hallway.

“...Or as short as you like, really.”

Groaning, Matthew signed the line in the middle of the paper despite the bad feeling he got from the extremely long paper. It vanished into a shower of green sparks, wrapping around Matthew’s form.

“Pleasure doing business with you, Matthew Williams,” grinned the British God, and suddenly he seemed much more sinister. Glancing down, the Canadian growled when he saw the sparks wrapping around his legs, eating inward and upward until he could no longer see his feet--then his legs--then his body. “Oh, and one more thing.”

As Matthew let out a single spitting curse word, Arthur the British Pagan King God of the Underworld leaned forward with a smirk.

“About the ‘later?’ _I lied_.”

And with that, much in the same way a man sinks underwater, Matthew Williams’s head sunk under the destructive force of the green sparks as the light, lilting cackle of King Kirkland accompanied his immortal soul into the underworld.

~*~*~*~

_Meanwhile, back on the mortal plane..._

"Mattie!" Alfred burst through his half-brother's door, with no regard for the fact that it was 9 am on a Saturday. "I want some pancakes but you make the best ones so- Mattie?"

Alfred listened for angry grumbling or any sounds of movement.

Nothing.

That was odd.

Usually Matthew would be whining because "It's too early and you're too loud. And no, I'm not making you any pancakes! You just woke me up from a nice, restful sleep, so you can make your own, hoser!"

"... Matt? You better not be getting laid or something! Bros before hoes, right?"

When even that didn't elicit a response, Alfred began to get worried. And, unfortunately for Matthew, when Alfred got worried, he began snooping. After almost an hour of searching, he had discovered that Matthew had a dozen dead roses in his room (creepy as hell), about 70 romance novels (and not even the good kind), and no maple syrup (not even a single bottle). It was the last thing that tipped him off, because there was no way that Matthew would go even a day without any syrup, and even if he was out for some unfathomable reason, then he always left the bottle in the cabinet so he would remember to buy more. Alfred glanced at the one room he hadn't checked yet: the basement.

Alfred had good reason to be wary of it, because Matthew tended to let wild and possibly rabid animals live in his basement for extended periods of time. But it wasn't like he was _scared_ or anything, because heroes did not get scared, especially over a few rabid, deadly animals. Yeah, definitely not scared. _Well_ , He thought as he approached the door, _here goes nothing._

He pulled open the door and sighed in relief. No crazy animals in sight. But, as he ventured down the stairs he began to get more creeped out. The large basement was lit only with candles and in the center of the room laid a simple charcoal circle with… was that a ‘B’ made out of ketchup in the center, upside-down cross drawn through it and all?

This set off alarms in Alfred’s head, reminding him of old wives’ tales about a demon who stole tomatoes and small children from unsuspecting houses, but of course those were just silly stories to keep kids from misbehaving, right? Story or not, Alfred knew that his brother was missing, that there was a creepy summoning circle in the basement, and his brain was screaming, “YOU’RE ABOUT TO FUCKING DIE OH MY GOD YOUR LIFE IS A HORROR MOVIE”, and Alfred definitely didn’t want to stick around for the climax when the dashing hero died.

The neighbors would come to refer to that day as “The day when that obnoxious boy screamed like a girl and ran away”.

~*~*~*~

In true ‘fanfiction physics’ manner, Alfred managed to run non-stop screaming all the way to the King’s castle. Running into the opulent throne room, he grabbed at the king’s feet, ignoring the outraged yells of the castle staff.

“King dude, you gotta help me! My brother got pulled into some shady shit and he fucking disappeared! I need like, your best knight, or maybe a whole army…”

“...Kill him.”

“WAIT, NO, YOU CAN’T KILL ME! THERE’S A GIANT SUMMONING CIRCLE WITH A ‘B’ AND AN UPSIDE DOWN CROSS IN IT AND GHOSTS AND SHIT AND DO YOU WANT MY SOUL TO BE EATEN BY A GHOST!?”

There was a pause, where the queen got up from his throne and whispered in the king’s ear. The king tilted his head.

“A ‘B’ with an upside down cross, you say? I’ve seen that symbol before... the symbol of a great goddess who once stole my grandchildren.”

Alfred stopped his incessant screaming about ghosts as the new information set in. “You mean… MY ONLY BROTHER WAS ABDUCTED BY AN EVIL GODDESS? Dude, you totally gotta help me now! At least one knight, please?”

“...” The king’s expression was cold as he stared at a spot above Alfred’s head. Briefly, Alfred wondered what he was looking at.

“... I will send with you my best knight. In return, you must tell me what has come to be of my grandchildren. Feliciano and Lovino\--remember those names.” The king snapped his fingers, and his queen tossed his long golden hair (that had gotten him mistaken as a female the first time the king had brought him back from the ancient Germanic tribes) and glanced contemptuously toward the nearby hallway.

From beyond the chamber, a solitary figure emerged, clanking metallic armor and the rustle of buckles and thick cloth. The faint smell of roses permeated lightly through the room, making Alfred gag.

“Sir Bonnefoy, you’ve been listening--join Alfred, find my grandsons, and find his brother. Alfred, this is Sir Francis Bonnefoy--Knight of the First Order, High Escort to the Queen, Slayer of Dragons, Master of Swords, Prince of the Roses. Perhaps you can help him out a bit.”

Alfred jumped to his feet, “Sure! I’m Alfred F. Jones, hero extraordinaire!” As the duo exited the castle to head for Matthew’s house, Alfred spoke again. “You know, I only need your help because I needed a sidekick to help me with my heroic quest to save Mattie.”

“Ah, oui,” Francis rolled his eyes, “I’m quite sure you could’ve handled the underworld on your- Wait, Mattie… as in Mathieu Williams? Blond with violet eyes and wavy hair?”

“Yeah, he’s my little bro and back-up sidekick. Why? Do you know him?”

“Oh, non, non, of course not...I must say, however, that this mission has just gotten a whole lot more interesting.”

~*~*~*~

“Oh dear, I must’ve overdone it that time.”

Matthew furrowed his brow, not quite understanding what was happening. Why was his bed so hard, and why was there some British guy in his bedroom? He was sure that the only guy he would invite into his bedroom was… Matthew shook his head to end that train of thought. He needed to forget about that stupid night _and_ that stupid knight.

“You’re waking up! Thank hell, I usually don’t use that many theatrics. I’d apologize, but you don’t seem to be injured in the long term and it _was_ rather entertaining....”

As Matthew groggily wiped the sleep from his eyes, memories came rushing in. He very nearly shrieked when he finally opened his eyes all the way and saw that the source of many of his problems was leaning very closely to him. Luckily for Matthew’s dignity, he managed to suppress the scream; unluckily, he had jumped and flailed, resulting in him accidentally hitting Arthur.

“Ow! Bloody fuck!” Gripping onto his nose, the regal king of the dead let out some not-so-regal human curse words. "You sodding sod! If my nose is bleeding I swear you'll pay in sweat and tears for the next thousand years!"

Both anxiously checked. Fortunately for everyone involved, the nose was not bleeding.

"Phew, thank God--er, wait." Matthew paused, confused, before shrugging to himself. Leaning back onto the bed, he sighed. "So, what do I do now?"

"... You'll stay in my palace for now," the old God said with a clearing of his throat. "You're allowed to roam free, but you may not leave the building, and, on the off chance you find the magical door to the fifth floor, you may not under any circumstance enter it or it's _fsssssh-sssssss-pow_ for you, okay?"

Scared by the rather exuberant hand gestures made with the sound effects, Matthew nodded. Arthur grinned and firmly turned to the door.

"CRUZ!"

Within seconds, a friendly-looking man in a Hawaiian shirt stood at the door.

"Cruz, this is Matthew. Matthew, Cruz. Cruz will acquaint you with the castle and show you where everything is. As for me, I'm going to the fifth floor to conduct some business, so please don't bother me."

~*~*~*~

After Cruz and Matthew had wandered around a bit, the only sounds being their footsteps and Cruz pointing rooms out, Matthew’s curiosity got the best of him.

“So are you a…”

“A god?” Cruz snorted, “As if I’d want to be one of them. They all have unnecessarily complicated issues, and ain’t nobody got time for that.”

“Then, what are you?”

“A captured soul. Just like you, but the only difference is that I actually read the contract.”

Matthew’s jaw dropped, “You read that whole thing?”

“Claro que si! Didn’t your parents ever tell you to read things before you signed them?”

“Yeah, but it was so _long_.”

Cruz scoffed, "The fact that it's long only amplifies the reason to read the fine print, since it’s even more likely that there's some unsettling section that makes you sign your soul away to the devil--or, for that matter, the God of Death--immediately. Of course, I was tired and didn't want to, but I held on. Damn, it took me almost eight hours." He chuckled slightly, scratching his head. “In the end, I demanded a different contract. I thought he was gonna kill me when he couldn’t get--” He paused.

“What is it?”

“I thought he was going to kill me when he couldn’t get what he wanted, but he was impressed by it and gave me a different contract--ten years of servitude after death. In another couple of months I’ll be free.”

“Is there anyone else here?”

“No. I’m pretty sure I’m the only one who’s ever escaped that contract, because the part about signing away all your rights to everything is in the last seventh of the contract--it’s close enough to the end that a person who starts reading it probably won’t get to it, but it’s far up enough that a person who suspects something will be hidden in the fine print at the bottom won’t find it either. I just happened to be the only one who read the entire document start to finish was sane enough to understand the connotations of the weird British lingo.”

“Haha...yeah...” Matthew coughed.

“So, what’d you ask for? A guy in this time trying to sell his soul to the King Pagan God of the British Isles--it’s been outlawed by your king, hasn’t it?”

“...Yeah.”

“Come on then, what was so important that you had to go against the king’s orders?”

“... It’s stupid. Stupid and embarrassing.”

“Fine then, socio, how about I tell you why I’m here, because your story cannot be dumber than mine.” After a second Matthew nodded and Cruz continued, “I’m here because I wanted to save my idiot cousin. The palestino was ‘in love’ but his lover had been kidnapped by some goddess, so he offered up his soul so he could be with whoever he loved forever. And I mean, yeah, this sounds like some kind of love story, but he’s the twist--his lover turned him into a fucking talking tomato! Like who even does that? So I come down here and attempt to save him from that fate, but a month into my indentured servitude, I see the guy and he tells me that he actually _likes_ being a tomato and is _happy_ with how his unlife or whatever turned out! So, basically, I gave up ten years of my afterlife for someone who didn’t even want to be saved.” Cruz looked over to Matthew, who was rather worried after hearing the story. _Alfred wouldn’t try to save me,_  He thought, _right?_

“Come on, Matheo, your turn.”

~*~*~*~

“Dude, that was hella trippy!”

Francis rolled his eyes. After making their way back to Alfred and Matthew’s house and reactivating the summoning circle in the basement, they had been transported to the spirit world and they he was now traveling with Alfred through what appeared to be a large field, bent on saving Matthew. Francis was currently attempting to trek through the field alongside Alfred in the hopes of not only serving his king, but sorting out his feelings--and he also happened to be becoming less and less sure that putting up with this man beside him was worth it. _I wonder if Mathieu would be too opposed to me leaving his brother to fend for himself…_

“So Franceypants,” Francis cringed at the nickname. This American was cutting his own chances of survival. “Now what do we do?”

“I believe our first task is to find out what happened to the king’s grandchildren. From there, of course, we’ll go to look for your brother.”

“You got any idea how we can find the kids?”

Francis shook his head, “Non. But, it seems that even this spirit world has a nighttime, so we should find a place to set up camp, and maybe ideas will be more forthcoming in the morning.”

After several minutes of silence, Alfred spotted a large cave in the distance. “Will that work?”

“As long as there aren’t any spirit-animals in there, il sera parfait.”

“Sp-spirit animals?” The American froze, eyes widening, “Like ghost dogs and shit? Dude, m-maybe we should just find another place to--”

“Yes, this place looks perfect.” The Frenchman smirked as he sauntered into the cave, casually throwing down his standard issue bedroll and sliding in. “After all, I myself am not afraid of the ghastly ghouls that are said to inhabit such caves, possessing human beings and sucking their souls into vast nothingness.”

“N-N-Nothingness?” Alfred let out a distinctly unheroic squeak.

“Yes, a deep black nothingness where your soul must roam for the rest of eternity, doomed to search for a fate it knows it can never encounter.” Rolling over and sliding off the looser parts of his armor, the Frenchmen through them over his shoulder and slumped deeper into his bedroll, closing his eyes. “Sweet dreams!”

~*~*~*~

Jeanne D’Arc Bonnefoy knelt in front of the household shrine, systematically tossing in sage and reciting prayers that she had known since she was young.

“Dear gods, both above and below, keep my beloved safe as he journeys on his righteous quest. Allow him to survive and return him to my arms with minimal harm. Please-”

“That prayer is rather drab. I’ll have to speak to the local church owners to get them to spice it up.”

Jeanne turned around rapidly and screamed, grabbing a nearby stick. “Don’t, don’t come any closer… whoever you are!”

“Woah there, calm down!” Thick eyebrows went up above green eyes as the young man behind her held his hands up in a ‘surrender’ motion. “I just wanted to see what you were doing! Curious, that’s all...geez, people these days...”

“Oh--no, it’s okay.” Jeanne grabbed another sprig of sage and pressed it into the stranger’s hand. “I’m just praying to the Gods that my husband will be returned safely. He’s a knight, you know. On a dangerous voyage.”

“Yes, I’m fully aware of that.” As Jeanne looked up quickly, the man blinked.

“Wait, what?”

“What?”

“I thought you just said--nothing.” Jeanne shook her head. “Anyway, you must be a foreigner, if you don’t recognize that symbol or know how to sacrifice sage to the Gods.” She motioned to the ‘B’ with the upside down cross inside, inscribed in oak wood above the small fire that was burning the herbs. “You toss the sage into the fire, then dab sacred oil three times onto your head--like so--and speak; ‘Dear Gods, above and below.’ Then your request, and that’s it.”

“Still a rather drab prayer,” the man sighed, drawing close to the fire and tossing the sage in and clearing his throat. “The highest and mightiest, the pinnacle of life, please hear our humble prayer, for we are but an element of ourselves and a portion of everything we mean is yours. Shield us, guide us, stand before us, let us trust implicitly in all the wisdom you hold, let us be led forth in time under the knowledge that you watch us and hear our prayer--” Here the man drummed three fingers into the vat of sacred oil and swiped them across his forehead, one by one. “--let this lady’s husband’s actions be watched under the Gods. Not that we aren’t already watching him...”

“What?!”

“--In our mind’s eye.And this we pray in the name of the greatest, the strongest, the mightiest God--King of Death, Britannia.” He stood up, oil still glistening on his brow, and touched his forehead three more times before bowing and turning to Jeanne. “And that’s what I call a prayer.”

She gave a startled laugh. “Well, you certainly ‘spiced it up.’”

“I’m sure the King God himself would be pleased,” he replied, giving a small laugh. Jeanne smiled.

“If you’re new to this area and need lodging, I’d be glad to take you in--it’ll be lonely now that my husband’s away.”

“No need for that; I have my own lodging. But I am staying in this area, so perhaps we’ll meet each other again.” Reaching under his thick cloak, he pulled out a tree branch and a book, scribbling something into it before replacing it into his coat and handing her the branch. “Take this. You might need it. Cypress.”

“Ah...okay, if you say so,” Jeanne replied, chuckling slightly as the thick branch was placed into her arms. The man nodded, smiled, and turned to go before Jeanne called him back.

“What’s your name, then, stranger?”

“Arthur,” the man replied, continuing out the door, “Arthur Kirkland."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since there's so much to focus on, this bouncing around from topic to topic thing is how the whole story will be.
> 
> In case you couldn't tell: the leader of the council is Romano, the voice in the back is Italy, the "stupid tomato"/ Cruz's cousin is Spain, the king is Rome, the Queen is Germania, and Cruz is Cuba.
> 
> Here is the part where I would normally tell you that the next chapter would be out soon, only to disappoint you later, but I think it'd be better if we were honest with each other. The next chapter may be out by next week, or it may be out a month from now. I sincerely apologize in advance for the length of wait.
> 
> And now, in case you couldn't guess, is the part when the author begs for feedback.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred and Francis meet a dragon and a shapeshifting cat, Matthew spills his heart, everything is not as it seems with Jeanne, and Arthur and Matthew bond over brothers.
> 
> Hover over words to translate.

Francis woke up to the sound of screaming.

“Oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god!”

Francis snuggled deeper into his bedroll. “Rendormir, Américain, c'est beaucoup trop tôt.”

“I don’t have time to decode your weird frenchy language! There’s a _dragon_ in the cave.”

Francis shot up quickly, and found himself with a face full of shiny, very large, snow white dragon scales.

“Sacré baise,” He stood up quickly, wondering how long it would take him to reach his sword. “There’s a dragon in the cave.”

“Really? It’s not like I just said that or anything, you... you _French whale penis!_”

Both males glared at each other, momentarily forgetting about the greater threat in the room.

“I--What--FRENCH WHALE PENIS?! I will have you know, good sir, that I am the highest knight of the Queen’s order, the Prince of the Roses--”

“Just because they call you a Prince of the Roses doesn’t mean you smell like one!” Alfred paused, sniffing in the rosewater and hesitating. “Besides, your hair looks like fucking whale semen! Stringy and disgusting!”

“IT IS YOU WHO IS DISGUSTING!” Francis wrinkled his nose. “First of all, calling someone a ‘Whale Penis’ is not a valid insult, despite what lower class gossip says about the meaning of the word 'dork'! Second of all, are you saying you know what whale semen looks like?”

“Ew, no that’s gross. What do you think I do in my spare time, jack off whales? What even goes on in your head?”

As Francis prepared to respond, they were interrupted by a loud throat clearing.

“Erm, excuse me,” They looked up at the dragon, who seemed rather put off after hearing their argument, “May I inquire what you are doing in my home?”

~*~*~*~

“I… I got my heart broken.”

Cruz blinked. He had thought that the boy was pretty level-headed, but to give up your soul because of something some broad did, that was ridiculous. And Cruz wasted no time in informing Matthew of his thoughts.

“You offered your soul to a forbidden god, just because of something that some chica that you were infatuated with? Socio, lo siento, I’ve had my share of problems with girls, but-”</p><p dir=">“It wasn’t a girl.”

Cruz’s eyes widened and _oh_ , Matthew’s story was baring an uncomfortable similarity to the story of his stupid cousin and he was suddenly feeling slightly bad about his earlier comments (Only not really, because his cousin _was_ an idiot and it’s not like he said _all_ people who offered up their souls for love were dumb, even if it would’ve been completely true, because who was naive enough to _actually believe in love?_ ).

“Oh. Erm, wanna talk about it?”

Matthew looked at him thankfully, and Cruz suddenly noticed that the Canadian’s eyes had started to water and he wanted to punch the asshole who broke this kid’s heart.

“I-I met him at a festival,”  Matthew paused, sighing, “And _dieu_ , he was stunning, I mean, he would’ve been beautiful in anything, he was just that type of person, and he just… stood out. And it wasn't as if he had surrounded himself with normal people to make himself look better, no, he was just perfect even around other near-perfect people. Then, he caught my eye and winked. Like, he actually _noticed me_ and winked and the rest of the night, even when he was with other people, he would just look at me and his eyes would twinkle and he was just so _perfect_.”

As Matthew sighed dreamily, no doubt thinking about how “perfect” this guy was, Cruz fought back the urge to gag. _Come on,_ he told himself, _let’s not think about gross guys with armpit hair having twinkling eyes and winking at innocent people they haven’t met and...this guy sounds like a pedophile. Okay Cruz. Just back off. There are still people who have dreams. And souls. That they just gave up to pagan gods._

“So what’s wrong? You talk to the guy, it’s a done deal.”

“He’s married.”

“...Come again?” _Deep breaths. It’s just a married guy, acting like a pervert and winking at little boys and twinkling in eyes and--yep, dammit, pervert alert. Abort mission. Die._

“He’s married and I thought...what do I do now? He loves his wife. The whole kingdom knows it.”

_The whole kingdom. Oh fucking hell. Is he the king? If he is the king I swear to God heads will roll...wait, the king is my great-uncle...wait, WHAT?!_

“He’s a famous knight in the royal order.”

_...Okay. Breathe a little easier._

“I didn’t know what to do with myself, so I went into this random fortune telling booth at the festival once the royal entourage had left…there was this soothsayer inside. She was really nice and kind and she had this pink flower in her hair. I remember because when I asked her what I should do, she crushed it into this frying pan she had. Then she pulled out three locks of my hair, three locks of her hair, and this small yellow feather from a bird on the windowsill before she put the pan over the fire and let it roast for a minute while she played Mozart on a nearby piano.”

_...What the actual fuck?_

“And then she hit me in the face with the burning frying pan.”

_What the_ actual _fuck._

“But then the ash in the frying pan fell to the ground, and she knelt into it and said it was a sign that I should give my identity (well, she said ‘face’) to the king god, and that it would eventually save me and give me his heart.”

_...Well, the king god does tend to make a lot of ash when he cooks. Seems legit._

“So I gave the king god my soul. And here I am.”

“...What the actual fuck?”

“Did I do something wrong?” Matthew sighed quietly. “What is it?”

“...Nothing. Not the weirdest thing I’ve heard. You know what? Let’s go raid the kitchens before Mister King God decides to try to start cooking lunch.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“WOAH THERE, MISTER DRAGON.” Alfred jumped back, blinking rapidly. “WE COME FROM THE PLANET NOVA AND WE MEAN YOU NO HAR--”

The American was suddenly slapped in the face by a metal gauntlet and fell to the floor with a yelp as the French knight drew his sword, swinging it fiercely.

“Begone, foul beast! I am the great knight, _Monsieur_ Francis Bonnefoy, Prince of the Roses, and today is the day you meet your doom!”

The dragon blinked twice. And then extended a single claw the size of a large mattress and flicked the sword out of the cave mouth and into oblivion.

"Gomenasai, Bonnefoy-san,” The dragon rumbled, “I have a strict no weapon policy in my cave. I don’t want anyone to die.”

“DUDE, IF YOU DON’T WANT WEAPONS, MAYBE YOU SHOULD TRY GETTING RID OF THOSE CLAWS!” Still slightly hysterical, the American shuddered. “AND SPEAKING OF NO ONE DYING-”

“...What’s up with all this...noise? I can’t sleep...”

The two humans abruptly looked down to see a small cat, yawning widely and uncurling from its little ball. The dragon dropped its claw down to the cat’s level and stroked the furry head lightly.

“I’m sorry, Heracles. The humans seem to be terrified of me again.”

“...Did you forget to tell them… that you’re vegetarian?”

“Ah. Right.” The white scales took on a faint pink hue. “I am not a flesh-eating dragon. I live off of gold and other metallic substances. Hence why I hoard it so possessively.”

Francis blinked, glaring at the cat. “And why should we trust you?”

“Because if I were not a vegetarian dragon, you would be in my mouth and down my throat already. Like so.” The dragon leaned down, took Francis’s metal glove in between two fang-like jaws, and crunched it vindictively. Alfred gulped. Francis blinked at his now exposed hand. Francis had been blinking a lot lately.

“...Okay, dragon dude, I believe you.” Alfred slid forward.

“You do? Because I don’t.” Francis sighed.

“My name’s Alfred,” the American continued, ignoring the French knight. “I’m on a heroic quest to save my awesome brother Matthew from the King of the Gods! This here’s Francey-pants-”

“Francis.”

“-Francey-pants, and he’s helping because whatever.” Alfred grabbed the tip of the claw closest to him in both hands, shaking it up and down. “What’s your name?”

“Oh. Ohayou Goziamasu, Alfred-san. My name is Kiku, and this is my partner Heracles.”

“Partner like partners in crime?”

“...No, partners like life-partners.” The dragon looked fondly down at the cat, who stretched lazily in a small pile of moss.

“...Wait, a dragon and a cat?” Francis, while still looking slightly suspicious, relaxed his stance. “How is the physical portion possible?”

“We have resigned ourselves to the fact…that we cannot do such things anymore, although it was okay...before the King God turned Kiku into a dragon,” sighed Heracles, while the dragon sputtered and turned red.

“Oh, that King God cursed you too? Man, he’s a jerk!” Alfred growled, but the dragon scraped a claw against the floor and he fell silent.

“Not at all. The King God did it to save my life. We were friends, and I was mortally wounded on a battlefield once upon a time. He turned me into an immortal creature and brought me into his realm.”

“...You mean he’s not the evil bad guy?”

“Not everyone is purely evil or good. Not everything is black and white. Take Heracles for example.” The dragon nodded to his partner. “He is not everything he appears to be, just like the King God is not the pure evil being some will have you believe.”

Heracles gave a final stretch. “Do I have to? You know I hate the form.”

“Please?”

The cat groused and stumbled up onto all fours before being engulfed in a white light. Francis ran forward to help it and Alfred jumped away, but the light dissipated and in the cat’s place was a lazy looking man with shoulder-length brown hair and loose clothing the color of his hair was and his fur had been.

“Do you understand now?”

“...Tell me the King God as you know him.” Alfred sat forward, thoughtful.

“The King God as I know him? He has walked alone for too long. The people he loves have all either betrayed him, abandoned him, or can no longer reach him. But despite all this, he still wants to place his trust in people, although he sometimes pretends not to care and hides his feelings. He is easy to hurt, although he may not seem to be until he is behind closed doors. Solitude has changed him and driven him to ignore everything but the pursuit back to the human world, for he believes when he is once again mortal he will finally be able to find someone to trust implicitly.”

“Well, he may act nice,” snorted the Frenchman. “But I have heard much about his demonic appearance. Eyes the color of venom, a twisted mouth that never smiles, eyebrows the size of boulders and hair as wild and unruly as his heart.”

“He does not have any such demonic appearance,” said Kiku; his nostrils flared in slight anger. “His eyebrows are...somewhat large, I will grant you, but his features are otherwise no more strange than that of any other normal human. Yes, he has green eyes and his hair is rather messy and doesn’t smile often. But despite all that, he--like all Gods--does not look any different from any human male such as yourself..”

“Green eyes, large eyebrows, messy hair--okay, I know what he looks like when I see him.” Alfred nodded to himself. “But if he really is so kind, why did he reap my brother’s soul?”

“That I do not know. Maybe your brother sought him out.”

“...Alfred, I do not wish to interrupt, but we must be off.” Francis glanced distastefully at the dragon a final time, who simply met the gaze with a calm one of his own. “We must make haste if we wish to rescue Matthew unharmed.”

“Bye, Kiku, bro!”

~*~*~*~

Arthur Kirkland took a sip of his tea. It wasn’t very good, but French teas never were. Unfortunately, he had to drink it (And to pretend he _enjoyed_ it, even if it tasted as if someone had thrown the tea leaves into the nearest polluted river and left them there to suck up the disgusting flavor, then poured millions of pounds of sugar into it) in order to stay on Jeanne’s good side.

“Jeanne, this tea is quite wonderful, what kind is it?”

“Ah, I don’t actually know, It’s something that one of the girls gave me; she said that she grew the leaves herself.”

“Hm,” Arthur had to hold back the urge to scoff. Only the French would drink mystery tea from a neighbor. “Well you will have to give her my compliments.”

“She’ll be pleased to hear that,” Jeanne giggled, “All of the girls have been trying to give me things since they found out that the ‘Mysterious stranger’ comes by every now and then.”

The God raised a single eyebrow, distastefully pressing his mouth to the tea and pretending to take a gulp. “Oh, and why would that be?”

“Well, the news of a handsome, mysterious stranger from another land has many ladies wondering if you are here to find a wife and settle down.” Jeanne laughed, taking her place at the table and having a gulp of her own tea. “A few who have spied you around town already seem transfixed by your accent. Some of them believe you intend to court me.”

“Court you? Aren’t you married, and to a rather well-to-do man at that?”

“Yes, to Francis Bonnefoy, self-proclaimed ‘prince of the Roses,’” laughed Jeanne. “How I married such a flamboyant man I may never know--although he was, and still is, very charming.”

“Hm, indeed.” Arthur allowed his mind to stray for mere seconds to a quiet, soft-spoken boy in his realm. “May I ask how you two became wed? Was it an arranged marriage?”

“Nothing of the kind,” the French lady replied, waving her hand dismissively. “I found him while running away from my hometown. I had had a vision, you see--magical foresight--that the king of this town would be facing an upcoming invasion. I made my way here and warned him, and in return he let me lead the invasion. That’s where I met Francis--on the front line--and my powers just kicked in and told me, right then and there, that he was the man I was destined to spend the rest of my life with.”

“And?”

“And so I did just that,” replied Jeanne with a serene smile. “And I do not regret it.”

The God blinked a couple of times, attempting to hold back the sudden rush of human emotions flooding through him as he gazed upon the woman he had been planning to destroy. Finally, he spoke, voice brittle.

“...Why are you telling all of this to me?”

“Hm. Interesting question.” Carefully setting aside her tea (awful stuff, _really_ ), Jeanne leaned forward. “My powers haven’t faded, you know. I can still sense things, things normal people can’t see--and I can sense that you, Arthur Kirkland, are _very_ special. There’s a power to you, something I can’t quite identify--but I find it intriguing and I intend to explore it for as long as possible.”

~*~*~*~

“Cruz, Matthew! I’m back! I’m getting a bit peckish, so I thought I could make us something and- Oh. You’ve already cooked.”

Matthew sighed in relief. They had just finished making dinner when Arthur had returned, but if he had come back while they were still cooking then he would’ve wanted to help and well, Matthew had only had Arthur’s cooking once, but he never wanted to have to eat it again.

"Luckily," Cruz smirked and Matthew sighed. Cruz just didnt know when to leave well enough alone. "Hell only knows what would've happened if we let you cook; you might've summoned an otherworldly tentacle monster."

"That was only one time and-!" Arthur took a deep breath and rolled his shoulders back, "Ahem. You are excused, Cruz. Thank you for watching Matthew today."

Cruz rolled his eyes, "Whatever. He doesn't need a babysitter you know."

"Yes, yes, because you _definitely_ know how to properly raise a donated soul better than I do."

After many snarky back and forth remarks, Cruz departed and Arthur and Matthew settled into an awkwardly silent dinner.

Arthur loudly cleared his throat,  causing Matthew to look up from his unidentifiable underworld meat. "So Matthew, you don't seem as distraught as the other souls about this whole thing.  Was your life really that miserable?"

"Eh, not really," Matthew shrugged, "I'm just kind of relieved that this is helping me sort of forget, and I don’t have too many people who'll miss me."

"Really? You seem like a nice enough chap, but you don't have anyone who would notice your absence?"

Matthew sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck, "Well, there is my older brother. He's the only person I can think of that really would notice."

Arthur "hmm"-ed in recognition and they went back to silence,  excluding the clangs of their sliverware and dishes, until Arthur spoke again. "I had four older brothers myself... I doubt any of them cared when I went..."

"What?" Matthew’s head shot up, "'When you went', what does that mean?"

Arthur's eyes widened and he began coughing violently into his fist, "Ah, I have no idea what you're talking about. All that exploring on the lower levels must be affecting your hearing."

"But I'm sure you said-"

"No buts! Instead of talking about how delusional you're getting, why don't you tell me more about this big brother of yours?"

"Oh, well his name is Alfred, and even though he's not that much older than me, he likes to act as though he's my... hero, I suppose." Matthew chuckled quietly, thinking of all the times that Alfred had actually run around with a blanket as a cape, proclaiming himself to be the hero. "Really, sometimes I think hes more of a tormentor than anything else. He's made it some sort of a habit to pick my lock on random mornings and wake me up to immediately demand pancakes, for one thing, and he's constantly 'borrowing' food and money and clothes."

"Seems like quite the bother."

"Sometimes. He's more of an overgrown child than anything else, and sometimes I wonder if he really is the older one, but he usually means well. And he's my brother; I can't exactly hate him, no matter how idiotic the stunt. But you understand, with big brothers of your own, right?"

"I... I can’t say I do. My brothers and I were constantly at odds; I'm not sure if I can recall a time that we were ever civil with one another..." Arthur sighed, running a hand through his hair, "But your own brother sounds lovely, I'm sure he misses you dearly."

"Heh heh, probably. Al probably would've torn my house apart and freaked out until he did something stupid like sell his soul to save mine if he didn't find the note I left him."

"A note?" Arthur searched his mind for any recollection of the boy him and the other gods had been Watching--Alfred--mentioning a note.

Matthew nodded slowly, "Yes... is that not alllowed? It's just that, he would've overreacted and tried to play the hero if he didn't know what had happened to me."

Arthur waved it off. "No, you're fine, I just never hear of souls leaving their loved ones notes. That was very thoughtful of you."

"It was really the least I could do," Matthew shruged, "I wouldn't want him gallivanting off on some completely unnessecary quest because he was worried or anything." Matthew paused and laughed, "My brother 'heroically' journeying though the underworld and fighting off ghosts to try and 'save' me, sounds like the plot of a corny adventure movie. It would be interesting though, especially since he's terrified of ghosts."

Arthur smiled slightly, thinking back to how he had Seen Alfred cowering at even the slightest threat of spirits. "It will, ah, I mean, _would_ be... very interesting indeed."

~*~*~*~*~

Elizaveta Herdervary folded up her belongings neatly into her handkerchief before affixing the cloth into her hair with a golden pin. Turning to her friend, she grinned. “You had him drink the tea, right?”

“Yeah.” Jeanne grinned. “When do you think you’ll be able to figure out the extent of his powers?”

“Hm. Well, first, I like to get a quick character sketch of my clients--y’know, see what they look like and their backgrounds and such.” Bringing her hand up to the cloth, the Hungarian soothsayer touched it lightly with three fingers before using those fingers to trace a circle in midair. Color flowed into the area, taking the form of blonde hair and green eyes. Her eyes hardened as she looked it over.

“Well?” Jeanne pressed on, leaning forward. “How much power does he have? Can you tell?”

“...A substantial amount, but he’s more than capable of controlling it,” she replied. “It’s fine. He won’t face any problems.”

“Oh, brilliant.” The girl smiled. “That’s all I needed, Elizaveta. Thanks!”

“Don’t thank me,” the soothsayer replied firmly, opening the door of the small house. “You’ll see what comes of this soon enough.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SORRY
> 
> It's been almost two months, but we have good excuses, I promise.
> 
> Okay so you may or may not know that, in November, I was hit by a car. I'm pretty okay but I have a concussion. Like a really really bad one because I insisted on going back to school a mere 5 days after the incident. So now im completely out of school for the rest of the trimester (like a sememster, only with three) via doctor/parent orders and I'm not supposed to use the computer or exert my brain so I wasn't allowed to write and now I do it secretly. (Like too much computer and/or brain simulation goves me a headache, and I have a super horrible one right now and Iris said I shouldve gotten off at like 11, but too late for that, and god my head hurts like a bitch)
> 
> In my co-author's case, she had finals and her parents were being dicks and Mock Trial (Her team got into regionals!) So she had like no time.
> 
> Also, I can't write for Jeanne, especially since I have no idea where Iris is going with the Jeanne D'Arc story arc, so I am literally useless when it comes to that part, so i had to wait for Iris to have time to write that. But I can write everyone else (although her Artie and Alfie are both better, but I attribute that to the usuk intense otp thing).
> 
> I pray the next chapter will be more prompt!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alfred and Francis meet, and attempt to resist becoming one with, a Russian God; Matthew and Cruz find an interesting painting; and Arthur meets one of Jeanne's friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM SO SORRY UPDATES WILL BE WAY FASTER NOW BC  
> 1\. No concussion, I'm hella healed now so my mom isn't a bitch about internet restrictions
> 
> 2\. We're back in school do that means we'll write more to procrastinate from doing our actual work
> 
> 3\. We have a full, pretty detailed, chapter-by-chapter plan for the rest of the fic, so now we know exactly what to write (and if my memory serves w/o looking at the planning google doc, there will be 12 chapters, an epilogue, and a bonus/bloopers chapter of sorts! Get pumped bros) 
> 
> 4\. We're a chapter ahead now! This one has been done for a while, but we just finished chapter 4 and Iris is a huge loser who likes to stay a chapter ahead.
> 
> Please enjoy!

p>Alfred narrowed his eyes at the door in front of him. It was very big and wooden, as well as being the only visible way to get past the ridiculously long wall that he and Francis had encountered.

"Dude, there's no doorknob."

"Are you quite sure?" Francis yell-asked back from further down where he was looking for another way.

Alfred rolled his eyes, "Well I'm pretty sure I can tell when a door doesn't have a knob, Frenchie. All it has is 'Ivan's Place' and a whole bunch of flowers in, like, purple chalk or something."

"And you're sure there's no doorknob?" Francis made his way back to Alfred, "Hm, I suppose we'll just have to knock."

"Knock?"

Francis raised a brow at his confused companion. "Well, yes. That's what people do when they want a door to open."

"Really? I just sort of... break down the door. Or pick the lock."

Francis regarded Alfred with a look of pure incredulity. "You cannot be serious."

"Yeah, well... um... your mom!"

"DO NOT TALK ABOUT MY- my mother was a classy lady in the king's house, and was a favorite of the queen. She taught me everything I knew about manner and high society-”"

"Which is why you flirt with everyone despite being married, huh?"

"You have no idea what you're talking about, and anyway, you're just jealous that you don't get any."

"Alright, that's it, Frenchie." Cracking his knuckles, Alfred whistled. "You and me. Right now."

Francis raised an eyebrow. "I'm sorry, I don't waste my love on lazy Americans."

"Wha-?" Alfred's eyes widened in understanding and he scowled, " _I am going to break you like a door._ "

"Ahem." The boys turned towards the door, which was now open, to see a strict looking girl glaring at them. "You are being loud. You will agitate brother. If you don't shut up, I will stab both of you."

Alfred, completely ignoring the murderous aura of the girl, grinned at her and breezed past her into the place. "Wow, thanks miss, you totally saved me from doing a totally unheroic thing like murdering this whale penis."

"I AM THE PRINCE OF THE MOTHERFUCKING ROSES-"

"What is it with you and your mother?"

"If I still had my sword-"

Both men suddenly found themselves with a sharp edge to their necks. "What part of 'I will stab you' did you not get? First of all, _You are disturbing brother._ " The glare she fixed on them could probably have pulverised Francis _and_ his mother. "Secondly, _all your roses will die, in the face of my brother's sunflowers._ And thirdly,  _you, American, will die._ "

"Ha ha, look blondie, there's no reason to kill me."

"I can think of several reasons to kill you," Francis mumbled.

"No one asked you, dick," Alfred mumbled back, then, much louder, "And besides, you can't kill a hero!"

"Then you will go to hell." The girl cackled madly, the knives shaking slightly. "Hell, without the ice that my brother and I love, with the King of Darkness -- the King of Gods!"

"Wait! You know where the King of Gods is?" Alfred would've started bouncing, if not for the knife still pressed to his throat. "Dude, you have to show us!"

"I do not have to do anything you ask of me, American slime!" The girl's knife hand shook a tad more, and Francis muttered a quick prayer in French.

The girl retreated, tilting her head as if listening to something.

"няма, I will take you to brother. He will decide your fate."

And that was how Alfred and Francis found themselves being marched to an ominous-looking castle by a girl who was several centimetres shorter than both of them with a knife.

* * *

Jeanne glanced over at the boy who knelt in front of her altar. He had been staying with her for only a handful of days, but already he was assimilating into her daily routine as well as the entire towns. It seemed to be a distinct possibility that he was going to become a permanent fixture, and Jeanne wondered how her husband would feel about it --as well as how she felt about it herself. He seemed like a perfectly decent person, but there was a nagging feeling Jeanne couldn't shake off -- a feeling she hadn't felt in a long time, a distinct foreboding associated with the golden-haired Arthur that compelled her to run away.

"Arthur?" Kneeling beside him, Jeanne examined the way he stared at the shrine's figurine without fear. There was a hard, steely glint in his eyes as he reached his hands forward to pick up the figurine in front of him.

"Don't touch it! It's sacred!"

The man ignored her, picking up the small wooden talisman in both hands and examining it closely. "Why a female?"

"Huh?"

"The King God. Why have you got a female figure?"

"Oh, that." Jeanne delicately grabbed the figure with a handkerchief, placing it back onto the alter. "Well first off, it's bad luck to touch the God with your bare hands. Second off, all of the mid-age legends say that she was female, and that 'King God' was just a title. The oldest ones say it was a male, and the newer ones also say he is, but I found the power of God during the mid-age, so I follow the King God as a female -- the Queen Goddess, in a sense."

"Hm." Arthur stared at the wood. "The King God's a male. You should change it."

"Male, female, who knows?" Jeanne sat back, kneeling before the altar and bowing her head. "The King God holds supreme power over us no matter the circumstance. We had best obey her and pray to her-"

"Him." Arthur's eyes were hard. "The King God is male. I am 100% sure. You had best change the figurine."

"No matter what he or she is, it is beyond earthly comprehension. I believe what I believe, and you believe what you believe, but we are all equals under the Council, under the rule of King God."

Arthur turned to face her, and for a second Jeanne could have sworn his eyes glistened with malice -- and then they became tears -- and then she lost sight of them altogether. He sat back on his heels, staring blankly at the statue before touching his fingertips to his forehead and reaching out.

"I told you, that's sacred! Jeanne reached for his hands, but found herself unable to pull them away as he pressed his fingers to the statue. When he pulled back, she glared. "Elizaveta told me that she'd blessed it and the unworthy would be cursed on contact! How many times do I have to tell you to fear the power of the Gods?!"

"... I suppose you're right." Arthur stood, throwing one last glance at the shrine. "Everyone, after all, must fear the power of the Gods."

* * *

"Are you sure that we're allowed down here?" Matthew glanced at the dusty cobwebs that decorated the room that he and Cruz had just entered.

Cruz waved away his concern as he lit his torch (the lower levels didn't have the magic candles that the upper rooms did). "Kingbrows said that we could go wherever, s'long as we didn't go to the fifth floor, and I _definitely_ know what that door looks like, socio. Now come on, I have no idea what's in here, but it's probably cool."

Matthew sighed quietly and walked along, knowing that arguing did nothing to sway Cruz's excitement to explore.

They had been making their way down through the seemingly endless hallways, searching rooms and rifling through forgotten chests and trinkets. It was fun, but it had been sort of nerve wracking ever since they had found a couple of extremely scary Forbidden Items. But Cruz still insisted on doing it, claiming that there was nothing else to do in the mansion anyway, so Matthew was dragged along to help hold the torch and move heavy objects.

"Hey, why didn't you ever do this before?"" Matthew said as Cruz dug through a wardrobe that they'd found.

"I didn't really have the time, with the whole 'servant to the God King' thing, and besides," Cruz stood and brushed off himself, smirking at Matthew, "Its much safer to look around when I have a scapegoat with me."

"Don't be a chirp," Matthew clicked his tongue and nudged his companion, before turning when the torchlight caught something shiny on the wall. Walking over to the wall and pulling the covering sheet completely down, Matthew saw that it was portrait of a woman: She had braided, caramel-colored hair, sparkling emerald eyes, and an overly ornate dress.

"Eh?"

Cruz squinted at the painting, "Do you think she looks like someone you know too?"

"No, why? Have you seen her before?"

"If I did, I can't remember it," Cruz scratched at his head, "But I swear she looks familiar... And isn't it weird that he has a picture this nice hidden away?"

Matthew hummed quietly in agreement. There were a few other paintings in the castle, but they were all of Arthur in his full ceremonial clothes. While Arthur occasionally slipped and mentioned something about his mysterious older brothers, he didn't seem to have anything of theirs â€” portrait or otherwise. Matthew wondered who it could possibly be, and then remembered something that the artist who did his own portraits did. "Wait, maybe... Maybe they wrote the name on the back?"

"It's worth a try."

The two lifted the painting off the wall (After Matthew had rested the torch in a convenient wall holder), and laid it down. Cruz grabbed the torch and held it up, eyes widening as he read the flowing scrawl that adorned the the portraits back.

"What the hell? Mateo, read this, I have to be seeing this wrong."

"'For Signora Bronwen Kirkland'," Matthew read, scarcely believing the words himself. "'Queen of the Gods'."

* * *

"This is the market," Jeanne said, leading Arthur by the hand through the square. A handful of girls waved at him from the produce stall, batting their eyelashes, and he rolled his eyes. "Over here is the textile cart, there's the area for talismans, and the section with all the restaurant carts is over there- huh, I wonder where the fry cart is?"

"Fry cart?" Arthur's large eyebrows furrowed. "What's that?"

"Have you really never seen one on your trip? They're everywhere!" Jeanne pointed at an empty spot, marked out in chalk. "The best maker of fried foods in the town is Alfred, though. He and his twin brother Matthew used to have a cart right over there, selling their specialties. I wonder where they've gone?"

"You don't know?" Arthur turned to stare at her. "I say, do you happen to know where your husband is?"

"Well, we were never extremely close to their family, but what does that have to do with anything? As for my husband, his missions tend to be secretive and under orders from the royal family, so I keep out of them." As Arthur's magical aura pulsed uneasily, Jeanne narrowed her eyes. "Why, do you know where they are?"

"No, of course not; I was just wondering. I would very much have liked to taste these fried foods." Arthur's aura wavered once more, before disappearing altogether. Jeanne frowned; she'd never been unable to sense magical pulses. What sort of magic did Arthur possess?

"Hm." She paused, remembering her Hungarian friend's cryptic words. "What say you we take a look at the soothsayer?"

"The Soothsayer? I suppose I could do with having my fortune told." Arthur's eyes came to life with... excitement? "The last... Soothsayer I visited didn't give me a very, um... favorable prediction. A second opinion would be excellent."

"Then let's set off." Jeanne gripped onto his arm, very nearly dragging him into the nearby purple tent. She paused, however, upon hearing voices inside.

" _It was? Are you sure?"_

" _I'm not stupid, Roderich, I know so. Moreover, I think I know what he's doing here."_

" _You mean it's around that time again?"_

" _... God damn it! The last one told me it would happen."_

" _Hey, it's not that bad. Better for us as well and all."_

" _I mean sure, it sounds great, but you realize what this means, right?"_

"What what means?" Jeanne rushed in, leaving Arthur still outside. Elizaveta jumped backward; she had been whispering to a nearby man with a purple robe. "Oh, hello, Sir Roderich. What are you doing here?"

"Discussing arrangements with the less obnoxious of my roommates." The nobleman coughed. "Gilbert's out in the taverns again."

"But what else is new with him, of course?" Elizaveta sighed. "You can go now, Roderich; I'll talk to you later." As the noble swept out through the back, the Hungarian turned to her friend. "So, Jeanne, what brings you here today?"

"Oh, I brought the boy I was talking about last time. Elizaveta, this is Arthur. Arthur, this is-”"

" _You!_ " Arthur strode forward, slamming his hands onto the desk; the crystal ball fell from the table and very nearly shattered. "You-"

"Arthur." Elizaveta's eyes were hard. "Jeanne, excuse us, please."

"Wait, wait." Jeanne looked between the two, the air charged with unfocused tension. "You two know each other?"

"We met each other on our travels," Elizaveta replied, not looking away from Arthur. "Jeanne, please leave for a bit."

" _Yes_ , Jeanne, please leave us _alone._ " Arthur waved his hand toward the door. Jeanne nodded slowly, backing toward the market and out of the tent. It swept closed behind her, obscuring the two from view.

* * *

"What the _fuck_ are you doing here?" Elizaveta paced around the table, fiddling with the folded handkerchief and gold pin. The fixture in her hair seemed to brighten under her touch, the purple becoming richer and the gold glowing vibrantly. As a shimmering layer of air fell away from her form, her hair lengthened and shone; her eyes began to glow; her common leather clothing seemed to re-weave itself into a night sky.

"I dunno, you seem to know exactly what I'm doing judging from that conversation I heard." Arthur's eyes glowed as well, hair rising as the atmosphere around him charged with energy. His own clothing morphed as well, too-large clothes from Jeanne's husband clinging closer to him and transforming into thin, dark armor with a black cape of feathers. Almost every feather seemed to hold it's own multi-hued glow. "How are Roderich and Gilbert, by the way?"

"Fine," she replied tersely. "We're still living together."

"And have they been doing the job I assigned them, evidently unlike you?"

Elizaveta said nothing, fixing Arthur with an angry glare. The God smirked. "As the King of Gods, I command you to speak."

Her mouth opened and words choked out. "I hate you."

"Hm." Arthur picked up the crystal from the floor and set it on her desk. "You must hate me quite a lot, to bless and give Jeanne a female goddess talisman over a male one."

He looked up and their eyes met. The air became even more charged between them.

"I -- It was just to make her happy," she replied weakly. Even as she said it, Elizaveta knew it wasn't an excuse; Arthur's eyes expressed not only betrayal but also fury. "I care for Jeanne, you know. I wanted to validate her belief somehow."

"Yes, of course you did," Arthur sighed. His armor melted back into normal clothing, but his eyes continued to glint dangerously. "But remember, she's my last one. No matter what you saw in that crystal ball, there is no stopping it; that is the reality. This recent turn of events is pushing her toward breaking point."

"And I suppose you're behind those too, aren't you?"

"My dear, I believe _you_ are the one who gave Matthew Williams that lovely bit of advice." His fingers ran over the smooth surface of the crystal; Elizaveta saw the smoke inside draw toward his fingertips. "Just be careful that you don't let your friendship with Jeanne blind you to what matters. After all, just one final push-" and here he dug his knuckles into the crystal with a solid punch, shattering it to pieces. The smoke swirled out around his fist, dissipating into the air as both looked on. "Just one final push, and we are free."

* * *

"Wait here." The girl with the knife held up a hand, not bothering to turn in the slightest before turning down another hallway. Francis and Alfred both shivered as they stared at the empty throne of ice.

"What do you think is gonna happen?" Alfred's teeth chattered.

"I think we should make a run for it." Francis glanced around, but the only way out was the way the psychopathic knife-wielder had gone. Nevertheless, he eyed the hallway. "We can find a way out and just get there. No distractions until we've saved Matthieu."

"... Oh my God."

"What is it?" Francis turned in alarm. "Are you ok? Are you getting frostbite? Are you losing all your brain cells? If you die, Matthew will never forgive me-"

"I can't believe a Frenchie like you actually came up with a good idea."

"You yellow-bellied tit!" The man slapped him with his remaining metallic glove; Alfred gave a very ladylike yelp. "Let's go before you come up with an even stupider idea that I am eventually forced to go along with!"

The two tiptoed down the hallways, flinching, and stopped at one particular doorway. Behind it, he heard distinct scratching noises.

"Ivan... Brother... brrrrotherrr -- come out! You have visitors!"

"Is this a ploy to get me out so you can force me to marry you?" This voice was distinctly more muffled, as if behind two doorways instead of one. "I am not falling for this again!"

The Frenchman and American exchanged glances, the American throwing a distinctly weirded-out look toward the doorway. "Um, bro... let's just go."

The two continued their tiptoeing (or the best tiptoe manageable in two-ton armor) down the hallways, taking multiple turns (they played rock paper scissors to decide on most of the forks in the road). Finally, they came across another door with no door handle.

"FINALLY!" Alfred charged forward, sprinting toward it with his foot outstretched, prepared to kick it in-

And the door opened at the last second, his foot colliding with a small, mousy boy.

"Oof!" The two bounced apart, the unknown boy holding his stomach while Alfred clutched his foot, skittering to the ground. The two stared at each other for a moment.

"Are you two trying to get out?" The boy whispered softly, glancing behind him. When Francis nodded, he jumped up quickly. "You have to find another way! Ivan is in the sunflower garden right now and will be following me any second! Quick! Hide!"

"What are you talking about, dudebro?" Francis attempted to mime to Alfred to be silent, but it didn't work; the American strode toward the doorway. "The psychopathic knife chick was talking to Ivan earlier in. We heard his voice, and-"

His entire body suddenly came in contact with the equivalent of an abnormally furry wall. Turning slowly, he came face-to-chest with a towering, silver-haired man.

"Are you talking about me?" He smiled, and Francis shuddered while Alfred blinked and frowned. It was an unusual voice with a distinct accent, sure, but he had definitely heard it just two seconds ago down that hallway, cowering from his sister.

"... Do you have a twin brother or something?" Alfred patted the torso in front of him sympathetically. "I have one too, man. At least I'm the cool one out of both of us. Mattie freaking got lost on the way to hell!"

"If anyone were to get lost on the way to their utter destruction, it would be you," muttered Francis, glancing at the human wall (that was growing increasingly more scary by the second).

"Well, fortunately for you," came another voice down the hall, "You have apparently reached that destination today."

The two adventurers turned around to face Ivan, againâ€”the identical man, approaching with a hand on his sister's shoulder and a smile on his face. Alfred turned wildly between the two, blinking wildly. "So, you are twins?"

" _Nyet,_ " a third voice sounded. A third doppelganger pushed past the one through the sunflower garden's door, this one wearing overalls and carrying a garden trowel. "Have you not heard of me? I do suppose the mortals have become more neglectful lately, but... "

"I am Ivan." A fourth man, coming out through a door directly into the hallway. The four moved as one, grabbing onto Alfred, Francis, and the mousey servant. The one that showed up with the knife-wielding girl remained, glaring at the three outsiders, eyes glinting with malice. "I can understand your negligence, giving the recent secular revival...but it is rude to ignore one's host, _da_? Particularly if that host is the God of Ice, Illusion, and Choice."

* * *

The three Ivans brought Alfred, Francis, and the servant (who they found was named Toris) to the original throne room, tying them up with their scarves and standing close behind them as the original Ivan they had heard sat on the throne. The psychotic sister (Natalia) bowed in front of him before walking down the hallway again. The two adventurers held their breaths as Ivan tapped the arm of his throne; Toris gave a small sob.

"So, what brings you into my little area?" The man smiled, his purple aura pulsing. "I don't take kindly to this, you know. Particularly not when my loyal little servants try and help them escape me."

Toris choked out an apology as Alfred glared.

"Dude, don't blame him!" Alfred attempted to stand, slumping down against the tightened scarf but still scowling at the god fiercely. "It's not his fault we happened to pick the right door! And as for why we're here, we're trying to meet the King God, although frankly it's none of your goddamn business!"

"You are in my house; therefore, what you are trying to do is my business."

"It's not like we'd be here if we weren't running out of time, god! Now can you let us through before we run out of more time?"

"Hm." Ivan stood from his throne, drawing forward; Alfred felt the three Ivans behind him drawing closer with their deadly purple auras. "You see, now that you are in my domain, I think that you will be my new servants. Just like Toris, Eduard, and Raivis -- you will serve me."

"Fuck no!" Alfred struggled yet again. "Just let us go! It's not like any of us have done anything."

"Neither did any of my little Baltics, but they are still under my control." Ivan smiled at the now thoroughly shaken Toris.

"Hey, what the fuck's up with that anyway?" Alfred babbled on obliviously, ignoring Francis's frantic gestures; the scarf extended into a gag, preventing him from verbally warning the crazed American. "What the fuck has anyone ever done to you?!"

"Hm. Let's see. Humans like you shunned me into this place, rejected my gifts, and shut me into a frozen lake to let me die." Ivan's eyes flashed. "They feared my winter powers and doomed me to die in them -- doomed my family to die in them, even though my sisters had done nothing wrong. I am only still here because I took quick action."

"I'm pretty sure incest is kind of messed up-"

"That is not my point." Ivan was now right in front of Alfred, glaring him in the defiant sky eyes. "My point is that I'm not entertained by puny humans telling me my business, telling me to treat them fairly when they haven't done the same." His hands came out, gloves covered in frost. The scarf around Alfred tightened. "And now, you're going to taste that, you particularly stubborn slime. I've never met someone quite so annoying, you know? Keeping you as a servant would be a waste. Instead, I think I will freeze you until you are dead."

"Damn." Alfred eyed the hands nearing him with a hint of fear, but his voice remained steady. Francis kicked wildly beside him. "Any way to get out of it?"

Ivan paused. "... Make a contract with the King God. He still has jurisdiction over me."

The hands twitched backward as Ivan sat back on his heels. The three behind him also drew back. Everyone seemed to still, waiting, as Alfred took a breath.

"...So that's how it works, is it?"

"... What?"

"The King God rules you, and you rule the humans. Some humans abuse you, so you abuse the entire human race." Alfred gave a small laugh. "So you're going to try and kill me, is that it? To get 'revenge' on the people who killed you, people who are already probably dead and would be more than glad to kill people like me or Toris or Francis just like they'd kill you. Kind of pathetic, really. Letting people control you so easily. Sometimes people just do stupid things."

Ivan paused heavily, the ice fading from his fingers. His gaze melted slightly, sadistic fury to curious contemplation. "Do you know why I became a god, Alfred F. Jones?"

Alfred said nothing, smirking in answer.

"I have seen people like you, people naive beyond comprehension who will believe and trust readily like you do. I've seen people like you try to do the best thing. And people like that will get ruined."

"You haven't answered your own question, you know." Alfred raised an eyebrow. He tried to keep his shivering to a minimum tried to hide his fear. "Why did you become a god?"

Ivan turned back to his throne, striding towards it slowly and stroking the shining ice.

"...I could tell you many lies, Alfred F. Jones." His face was covered by shadows as his hand slowed, resting on a crack in the ice. "I could tell you I became a god because I was born with power over ice, chose to hide it, and was brought low by a single choice that my village made. I could tell you that I became a god because of my unjust death, or divine intervention, or a man as pale as my frost who came to my village long ago and drank our town dry like it was his own personal beer bottle. But the truth is that he, like me, became a god because of one thing and one thing only. And that is the thing that you will face -- that all people come to face at one time or another."

"And what might that be?"

"The Gods." Ivan turned, eyes glowing amethyst. "Everyone must face the gods eventually -- like you are now, and like you will in the future."

There was a pause. Alfred tried to identify the pressure in the air, tried to decipher the words that still swirled like thick mist in his mind. He'd never been particularly good at that sort of thing.

"... So, what are you going to do now?"

Time seemed to slow almost instantaneously, the air dropping down to absolute zero. Alfred couldn't stop his teeth from chattering as the scarf around him unwrapped itself and flew back onto the back of the Ivan behind him. Francis and Toris, on the other hand, seemed to freeze solid, hair suddenly dripping with ice as the two stopped in their struggling with eerily blank expressions.

"I am not cruel beyond reason," came Ivan's voice, the four coming forward in front of Alfred. "I, like I am bound to do, give you choices. You can leave your friends behind and continue on to save your brother, Mathew; I won't try to stop you. The path to hell is hard enough on its own, and I will neither help nor hinder you, but I will not set your friends free." The two statues seemed to glint in their ice cages. "Or, if you think that is too difficult, then I can let you become my servant. I will unfreeze the two of your friends, and all of you will serve me for the rest of eternity."

"Fuck. No."

"Very well." The four Ivans seemed to flicker simultaneously. "If you still find it too difficult to continue, or find yourself unwilling without your friend, then I can send you back to Earth without any of them. I can even wipe your memory if you wish; illusion is a powerful thing. And... "

"What is it?"

"There is a way," Ivan said slowly. "There's a way to get directly to hell. No hardships, guaranteed. You could-"

"Make a contract with King God, yes, I know," sighed Alfred. "Why would I want to go there without a way to come back, when the entire point is to get us both out safely in the first place?"

"You could make the contract stipulating a way back. It would work."

Alfred paused, squinting at the Ivans, and the four stared back before Alfred sighed loudly.

"I just don't get it," he said, glancing up at them. "My brother wouldn't have made a contract without a way to do things properly. He would have made a way out for himself... but he's not back. You keep telling me to make a contract, and you want me destroyed, so naturally I should conclude that you're trying to trick me by getting me to make a bad contract... but you still seem to not want me to do this, providing me so many other alternatives. I just don't get you."

"You don't need to understand me." The four spoke as one. "You just need to choose."

"...Well shit, demon god." Alfred ran his fingers through his hair as the scarf trapping him unwound itself and floated back towards the Ivans, swirling around them haphazardly. "I honestly would be the hero if I could. But I can't. And my brother matters more to me than anyone in the world, whether it be a French knight or a poor little servant boy."

"... So what you are saying is?"

"...Fuck." Alfred sighed again, closing his eyes tightly. "Don't make me say it, man. I'm going to fucking leave these two behind to save Mattie. Does that make you fucking feel happier about the shitty people that drowned you?"

"... " The four Ivans merely stared at Alfred curiously, the scarf still swimming in lazy circles around their bodies.

Then, one by one, they began to morph and disappear. One transformed into a frozen statue and shattered into a million pieces, one collapsed as his clothes tore themselves to rags and dissolved into a heaping swarm of ants that slowly faded, and a third shrunk into a man with dark, unrecognizable features that Alfred could barely catch before his entire body shrunk into the new emerald eyes and fell to the floor as gemstones.

Only one Ivan remained -- the real Ivan -- and this one strode forward as Alfred finally stood on shaking knees, the cold air seeping into his newly exposed bones.

"... You are in some ways like me, Alfred F. Jones." The man tipped his head. "If you were not human, I should like to think we would have made either great friends or great enemies. You believe in the good of human beings and the good of your own capabilities. But you are beginning to understand, like I was forced to, that at times there is just nothing you can do."

"... Just let me go." Alfred's voice cracked. His eyes moved from Ivan's face to the throne, and he pointedly looked away from the two figures frozen in time beside him. Ivan's sister was also caught in the time stream, a perpetual smirk on her unblinking face. Her smile seemed to taunt him, and he directed his gaze to the ground. "You've got your answer."

"I am going to teach you one more lesson before I go, Alfred Jones." The scarf, that was now whirling around Ivan more quickly, finally wrapped around his already covered neck. "Just like illusions aren't real, like there are no perfect copies of anything -- there can be many choices, but only one can be real. Only one is right. Only one is the truth."

The scarf hoisted upward, taking Ivan by the neck, and a sickening crack filled the air as the bones in his neck broke, and then the illusion broke in the same moment the Ice God disappeared into thin air.

* * *

Francis came to with the distinct feeling that his wrists were in horrible pain. He sat up, wincing, and stretched out his arms -- only to discover that, in the crack between his glove and his metal arm plates, a thick red welt had risen where something had been wrapped too tight.

He looked around. Alfred sat alone beside Toris, who was also regaining consciousness. The usually hyperactive boy was staring blankly into space, fixed at a spot right above the now empty icy throne. The knife-wielding girl stood beside the throne, blinking slowly before giving a small, wicked smile and disappearing down the hallway.

"Alfred?"

The boy jumped. "Oh- Frenchie!" He looked around. "So... you're not an ice statue?"

Francis blinked at him. "Do I look frozen to you, idiot?"

"Oh... I guess not." Alfred's eyebrows furrowed. "Okay... let's go then."

"What? Now?!"

"Uh, duh. When else would we leave?"

"I don't know, maybe after we've resolved things with the giant god who owns this ice castle?"

Alfred laughed dryly, "Dude, that'd be like, the worst thing to do."

"And why would that be? I thought you would jump on the opportunity to befriend yet another weird thing here." Francis smiled, but Alfred's face stayed impassive. Alfred's demeanor had changed suddenly, and it -- and know that it very nearly pained Francis to say it -- worried Francis immensely.

"Nah, I already squared stuff out with the ice guy... But we gotta get going quick," Alfred stretched as he stood and the casual tone that he used was at odds with his still serious face, "I sort of promised that you would be this guy's servant forever, and we should probably leave before he figures out that I'm double crossing him."

"What?" Francis choked out, "I have to work for him now?"

"Not if you hurry up so we can find our way outta here. C'mon Frenchie, keep up." Alfred clicked his tongue and began walking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter should be here within the next month and a half! Maybe. 
> 
> We have to take the PLAN/SAT/ACT, we're both Juniors in at least 2 APs each, plus extracurriculars and family obligations, and with thinking/crying about college and future careers, it all starts to add up.
> 
> And, to be completely honest, this fic isn't the only multichap that either of us are working on nor our first priority
> 
> But, we're starting chapter 5 today, and as soon as that one's done we'll post 4! I'm really pumped for ch 5, ngl, so I'll probably force Iris to write faster and stuff because I can't wait to get to the stuff that we have planned later on :D


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred and Francis meet the god of Law, Knowledge and the Sun, plus his family; Jeanne shows her traveling friend the local shrine; Arthur and Elizaveta have another talk; Matthew and Cruz try to find out more about this "Bronwen" person

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! It's only been about a month, so yeah! we didn't take like 3 months to update this time. I think it's mostly because next chapter contains the words "unshed moe tears" and so you can guess how fun it was to write. We finished it way faster than expected, so we're keeping up with this "staying a chapter ahead" thing :D 
> 
> The only thing that you might want to know is that Lien is Vietnam~~~
> 
> Please enjoy!

“Jones, would you slow down for a second?!”

Francis nearly collided into Alfred’s back as the boy stopped short suddenly, not facing him. The two had ran wildly from the house, past a field of dead sunflowers implanted messily into frozen ground, and continued out a barbed garden gate. From there, the climate had gotten progressively hotter until both adventurers were sweating out almost all their bodily fluids (or at least, that’s how Francis felt). Despite this, however, Alfred had refused to slow down or carry a decent conversation (unusual for the American), instead plowing on as fast as he humanly could.

“What?”

“Slow down! We’re far enough. It’s probably too hot for Ivan to get here anyway. We’ll be fine.” Francis sighed, running a hand through his sloppy blonde locks.

And then he was cut off when the floor suddenly fell out from underneath them.

“WHAT THE FUCK -- OW!” Francis cursed as he landed squarely on his wrist. “ _SACRE! THAT HURTS!_ ”

“Yeah, now imagine what it’s like without armor.” Alfred stood slowly, groaning as he examined his host of new bruises. “Shit, this is painful. What did you do, step on a goddamn nuclear bomb?”

“No, then we'd be dead. Fortunately, we're only brutally maimed. Unfortunately for me,” Francis experimentally twitched his wrist, wincing at the pain that the sprain had brought on. “I’m missing my glove. I wonder why. Oh, right, a _dragon ate it._ ”

Alfred blinked. “Oh, you mean Kiku! Well, at least the thing went to a worthy cause. We’re totes not dead and eaten inside a dragon stomach-”

“We weren’t going to be eaten anyway. He was a _vegetarian._ ”

“-So that’s a plus,” Alfred finished as if Francis hadn’t said anything. “Although that’d make a more hardcore story than you dying because you fell into a hole and landed on your hand. Actually, that’d make you an even worse knight then you are right now...”

“I’m an _excellent_ knight!”

The two were cut off yet again as a barrage of stones suddenly flew out of the earth, bombarding the poor adventurers. A loud sound erupted above them.

“Ivan, _bie da rao wo le!_ How many times do I have to tell you that I will _not_ be sacrificing myself for the upcoming winter! In fact, there is no upcoming winter! It’s the middle of spring!” A head popped over the lip of the hole, peering down at them. “And Kiku, if you’re with him, I told you not to come back after you left the house in favor of a lump of rancid fur -- oh.”  

"Bro, we're running away from Ivan," Alfred yelled up at their shadowy captor. "Totally on your side here! Unless you try to imprison us forever or something, which, by the way, is totally not a bro move."

The man furrowed his brow. “Bro move?” He shook his head, his ponytail dancing along the line of his shoulder. “What the Chairman Mao is that?”

“Why don’t you let us out and help me out with my wrist,” Francis sighed, flopping down backwards onto the ground. “Then maybe if we’re still alive and can get to hell in time, we’ll tell you.”

“You are in hell,” retorted the man, confused. “The third circle, to be exact.”

Francis let out an even louder groan, closing his eyes and sagging against the floor. “Well, that explains a lot.”

Alfred poked Francis’s cheek. “Francis. Franny. Francy-Pants.”

There was no reply.

“Francine. Frandango. Franppucino milkshake.”

Francis opened his mouth, loosing a word in French that probably wasn’t an expression of joy.

“I WANT FRANTABULOUS!”

Francis jolted upright as Alfred knelt next to his ear, bellowing the HSM lyric into his ear. As Francis began sputtering and the man above watched them both bemusedly, Alfred jumped to his feet, seemingly instantly cured, and began dancing around the hole and kicking up the dirt into Francis’s face.

“THAT IS MY SIMPLE REQUEST! ALL THINGS FRANTABULOUS, BIGGER THE BETTER, THE BEST!”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

The two had almost forgotten the man above ground, who was now standing upright above the hole. With a flying leap, he dove toward them, landing gracefully on his feet. “I did not believe two people could be so loud. If you don’t shut up, how are the gourds supposed to grow?”

“...Gourds?”

“You’re disturbing them! The best way for a garden to grow is to treat it like a human -- give it food, water, fresh air, protection, and rest.” The man had amber eyes that seemed to glint when he smirked. “And, of course, the sun. Everything needs the sun to live... including you, apparently. You’re both humans, right?”

“No, we’re gourds.” Francis had flopped back down and was now stubbornly ignoring Alfred’s returned cheek-poking.

“Well duh, we’re human.” Alfred gave him a look. “What the fuck else would we be?”

“Ivan. Or Kiku.” The man shrugged. “A God or something; that’s what everyone else is around here.”

Francis opened his eyes, sighing. “I suppose you’re going to tell us that you’re an evil God here to trap us in ice also.”

“Ice. What a stupid move.” The Mystery Man scoffed. “Haven’t you heard the Prophet, Frost? Ironic. ‘Some say the world will end in fire. Some say the world will end in ice. From what I’ve tasted of desire, I hold with those who favor fire.’” His eyes softened. “He was a good man. It’s a shame that all men die.”

“Fire? Is that why it’s so hot out?”

“Oh, no.” Francis scowled, crumpling his face. “I know who you are.”

“Fucking right you do, Francis Bonnefoy.” The man crossed his arms and . For a minute, he looked like a petulant child. “You’ve been ignoring me for far too long! You know the laws of the universe! For Mao’s sake, you _have a wife!_ ”

“Shut up!” Francis bolted up. “Shut up right now!”

He paused. “Fine. But you can’t evade the Law forever. In fact, I think you’re facing him right now.”

“Are you saying you’re the Law? Because dude, that was a hella lead-in.”

“Shut up, Alfred!” Alfred only shrugged at Francis’ scathing look. The Frenchman sighed, nearly collapsing again. Today hadn’t been pleasant. He’d been frozen, sweated out, and subsequently fell in a hole and nearly _died_. He was still in the hole. Throw in a coffin and he’d just about call it a day. “This man-”

“I’m much more than a man, as you should know, Francis Bonnefoy.” He turned to Alfred, his eyes shining dully yet again. “And you know more than you pretend to, Alfred F. Jones. I am Yao; the God of the Sun, Knowledge, and Law.”

* * *

 

“So what was that all about?!” Jeanne paced in front of the tent, huffing. “Is everyone okay? For God’s sake, why did you break her crystal ball?!”

“It fell,” murmured Elizaveta, expression subdued. “We’re all fine. Just a couple of disagreements, that’s all.”

“A little bump in the road.” Arthur replied smoothly, shooting a cautionary glare at Elizaveta. The Soothsayer’s magical aura flickered -- first in rage, then in fear. “But we’ve fixed all our problems now. Right, Liz?”

The girl scowled, vanishing back inside her tent.

“Now where were we?” Arthur gave Jeanne a smile. “I believe you were just showing me around the market.”

“Uh...” The Frenchwoman shot the unassuming traveler a shrewd look. She wasn’t quite sure what to make of the exchange, but something was bothering her. “We’ve seen just about everything noteworthy. Do you want to head back home, or shall we take a visit to the shrine?”

The two set off in the direction that headed towards both, Arthur tilting his head back as he let his shoes drag in the loose gravel. “...Does the shrine worship your female goddess?”

“Sometimes. I certainly wish they would do so more. But our society is largely patriarchal, unfortunately.” The warrior sighed. “ _C’est la vie._ Would you like to take a look?”

“Yes, why not.” Arthur turned instinctively towards the left path in a fork in the road. “It’s this way, right?”

“How did you know?” Jeanne jogged to catch up, smiling slightly. “I can do the same, of course, but I always thought it was due to my magical powers.”

Even as she said this, Arthur’s aura pulsed slightly before fading completely again.

“I’ve always been attracted to holy centers,” the foreigner replied as the two set back into a regular rhythm. “It’s a useful sense when I’m on my travels.”

Jeanne gave him a side-eyed squint. His aura had been fluctuating and fading at seemingly random intervals throughout his entire visit, something that she’d never seen before, and she was growing increasingly antsy as the pattern continued and Elizaveta refused to explain the reasoning behind it.

“Arthur, do you have magical powers?”

The man paused. “That’s a difficult question to answer...at any rate, we’re here.”

The two walked into the small shrine, opening the door and becoming suddenly surrounded by the overpowering stench of incense. The entire room was dimly lit with low-burning candles, and was silent save for the hushed, numerous whispers that swept across the room, snatches of prayers from the many kneeling people in front of numerous altars. Some were priests and some were common folk, but all of them prostrated themselves in front of the columns of effigies in front of them. Many other tall statues remained, open for anyone to worship in front of.

The two knelt simultaneously in front of neighboring statues. Arthur glanced upward. “Who am I kneeling under right now?”

“Check it yourself,” Jeanne whispered.

“Can’t.” Arthur scowled. “It’s disrespectful to raise your bowed head in front of any God, no matter what.”

“That’s...a really ancient tradition.” Jeanne glanced diagonally, afraid to raise her head and offend Arthur. She barely caught a glimpse of defining features from her peripheral vision. “I think it’s the God of the Present.”

“Oh, no, that won’t do.” Arthur sighed. “That won’t do at all. And you’re in front of the God of the Future, which is also bad -- you spend too much time with her already.”

“We all must come in touch with our futures intermittently, if you’re speaking metaphorically,” sighed Jeanne; nevertheless, she let her head fall until she touched the ground, bowing deeply before standing and bowing one last time. Arthur did the same, then moved among the effigies.

“Hm...where is he...ah, here we are.” Arthur stopped in front of the statue of the Goddess of the Sun. “And you’ve got the King God, over here.” He inspected the statue. “Why, pray tell, does King God have a ponytail?”

“To make them androgynous and therefore appealing to any subsect of religion,” replied Jeanne, whispering harshly. “I’m glad they do, it makes it easier for people like me to worship the Queen Goddess.”

Arthur ground his teeth audibly, drawing a couple of disdainful stares. “Whatever you say.”

“It’s the same with yours,” Jeanne sighed as they both knelt again. “Even though you have the Goddess of the Sun, the statue could be mistaken as male, right?”

“What do you mean ‘mistaken?’ The Sun deity _is_ male.” Arthur paused. “Wait, are you saying most people here think that the Sun God is a female?”

“You mean you come from a place where they don’t?”

Arthur snickered. “Oh dear...I’m sure the Sun God would _not_ be happy to hear that, would he?”

“Well, I suppose _she_ wouldn’t, if she were male.” Jeanne scowled. “ _Honestly_ now. Some of us are here to pray.”

Arthur gave a small chuckle, turning to the statue and closing his eyes. He felt closer to Yao’s realm (despite the bastardization of a representation sitting in front of him), and was easily able to close his eyes and slip into the muggy, humid air of the third layer of hell -- or what Yao liked to call ‘Middle Earth.’

“ _Where are you taking us, dude?_ ”

“ _Unhand me, you uncultured swine!_ ” _There was the sound of rope stretching. “Do you know who I am? I am-”_

_“Francis Bonnefoy, the Prince of the Roses, blah, blah, blah.” The Chinese man snapped his fingers. “Now come along, you two! I haven’t tied up your legs, so you can walk yourselves in, right?”_

_Alfred said nothing. Francis spit out curses._

“Ah, the beautiful sound of French cursing in my ear-”

“What?!”

Arthur opened one eye, breaking the connection as he glanced over at Jeanne.

“Pardon?”

“Did you just say ‘the beautiful sound of French cursing?’”

“Why yes, I suppose I did.” Arthur shrugged in response to Jeanne’s incredulous look, sinking back into a whisper. “Is there anything wrong with it?”

“Uh…” Jeanne shook her head slowly, sighing and bowing again before she stood up. “Well, if we’re not going to get any actual praying in, I guess we could go and watch a play. I hear they’re putting on ‘Sherlock Holmes’ at the theater.”

“Ah, brilliant literature. Mister Arthur Conan Doyle sure knew how to work a stage.” Arthur bowed and stood, smiling. “Let’s go, then.”

* * *

 

“Well, here you are.”

The two stopped short of a throne (Yao blatantly ignoring Alfred’s snort and exclamation of ‘what is it with Gods and thrones?’), ropes melting away as Yao strode forward and perched himself on it delicately. His golden robes, a faint image of a dragon stitched into the silk, flared outward as he sat. For a brief moment, a crown of sunbeams illuminated his head as he closed his eyes; when he opened them again, his irises flared a bright scarlet.

Alfred whistled low in appreciation. Francis cussed him out.

“Shut up, please, Francis Bonnefoy.” Yao shot a glare. “Now. Would you please tell me why you’re in my realm?”

“You should know, shouldn’t you?” Francis scowled. “I mean, you are the God of _Knowledge_ , after all.”

Yao paused, staring off into the distance before snapping back to attention. “As a matter of fact, I do. But I would like to hear it straight from the horse’s mouth.”

“We are not _horses-_ ”

“It’s an expression, Bonnefoy _xian shen._ ” Yao’s eyes turned to him as he glared. “And if you do not stop, I will have to have you thrown forcibly from Middle Earth.”

“And what of it?” Francis slumped, still fiercely angry. “My life is ruined by you either way.”

“You Frenchmen,” Yao snorted. “Always so dramatic.”

“I know, right?” Alfred nodded vigorously in amusement. “He’s always saying these overly emotional things and using extended metaphors or some shit.”

“Not to mention his going on about being the ‘Prince of the Roses.’” Yao sighed. “I don’t envy you for having to travel with him. How he got his position I will _never_ know.”

“If you two are quite done with the ‘Francis Bonnefoy Recovery Circle’-”

“I believe that circle is better suited for Alfred’s brother.” Yao’s eyes went back to the knight, who scowled defiantly. “No matter how bitterly you treat me, Francis, you will not make me feel guilt because I guided my priest to do what was right in the eyes of the law. It is my domain. You cannot claim to know more about it than me.”

“I’m not saying I know more about it. I’m just saying that the Law is stupid.”

“As much as you may think this, Francis Bonnefoy, kindly realize two things.” Yao snapped his fingers. “Firstly, I _am_ the Law, and I am by no means stupid -- hence _knowledge_ and _law_ pairing hand in hand.” The reasoning behind his snapping became apparent when a small boy wearing a red _duangua_ came in, holding a golden goblet full of shining liquid. “Secondly, you may hate the Law all you would like, but it is here for a reason. There are rules that create order in society. For example, rules that forbid polygamy in little French countrysides..”

Alfred’s brow furrowed in confusion, and Francis abruptly shut his mouth, horrified.

“You wouldn’t,” Francis whispered through gritted teeth.

“Wouldn’t I?” Yao raised an eyebrow.

“No.” Francis growled. “You’re many things. But you’re not unjust. You are, after all, the law.”

“And so I am.” Yao grabbed the cup, bowed deeply to the boy, and drank the liquid while the boy scampered off without glancing at the prisoners. “But justice is subjective.”

“But you are not.” Francis gave a small, humorless smile. “You know the secret to ultimate justice...but you hide it from us.”

Yao picked at the cloth of his sleeve; as soon as the robe began to unravel, the air appeared to sizzle and the loose threads rewove themselves. “There are certain things, Mr. Bonnefoy, that the Gods must hide from man. You might understand that someday.”

The two men glared at each other, eyes sizzling. Finally, Alfred coughed, confused.

“Uh, dudes?”

The two looked over.

“As much fun as this is, I really gotta ask -- can we go now?”

Yao’s entire figure sagged in his throne. He suddenly looked six thousand years old. “...You want to get to the King God’s realm and save your brother, huh?”

“How did you-”

“Know? Because I Know everything.” Yao smiled tiredly. “I talk daily to Past, Present, and Future. They come to my house each day when the sun rises, tell me what I will need to know for that day, and nothing more. But I find I can accumulate quite a lot of material after going through that process for thousands upon thousands of years. Today, they came to my house and told me that two little adventurers would wander into Middle Earth seeking Matthew Williams. And here you are.”

“Beautiful. Marvelous.” Francis’s brow furrowed. “May we go now?”

“As bitter as you are toward me for spoiling your little fantasies, Monsieur Bonnefoy, I can assure you that I only want to help you.” Yao scowled at him briefly before turning back to Alfred. “Your current journey is hopeless. You cannot possibly reach the ninth layer before Matthew’s soul is taken and used for its intended purpose.”

“Mattie’s soul? What the hell is Mr. King God gonna do with that?”

“I don’t know, I’m afraid,” sighed Yao. “But I do know that the only way you’ll be able to get there in time is to talk to him yourself.”

“You mean worship at the temple?”

“ _No,_ Alfred.” Yao rubbed his temples, sighing. “I mean make a contract. You must talk to him face to face, and the only way to draw the attention of the King God is to make a contract with him like your brother has.”

“THAT’S IT!” Francis jumped up. “I knew it! You were trying to sucker us into a contract, I knew it!”

“Huh?” Alfred’s mouth worked open and closed.

“King Roma warned me about this.” Francis chuckled. “Don’t let the Gods make contracts with you! They’ll screw you over!”

“Huh.” Alfred squinted at the Sun God, who remained seemingly unbothered. “Y’know, Ivan did say the same thing...”

“Ivan says what he wants. I say what I want. Why do the Gods do anything?” The man leaned on one elbow, glancing over the two contemplatively. “We do things because we want to. Because we are often bored by our day-to-day lives, and crave something interesting. And today, I think that watching two adventurers face up against the King God would be particularly fun to watch indeed. It would be a sight to watch, particularly if I could watch it from the comfort of my realm.” Yao shrugged. “So yes, I want to do you two a favor. Call up the King God, and if you can coerce him into giving you a contract, then I have no doubt that you will swiftly be able to find your brother.”

“Will we be able to save him, though?” Alfred frowned. “‘Cause dude, I don’t know about you, but I’ve had enough ‘lifelong enslavement’ experiences for today.”

“...It is possible yes.” Yao drummed his fingers. “But no matter what, no mortal can pass through the ninth layer unguided. You must have the knowledge and wisdom of the Leader of the Gods to find the King God’s castle. Even I can’t enter without the aid of the King.”

“How do we know you’re not lying to us?”

“Lying?” Yao raised an eyebrow.

An eruption of laughter suddenly sounded from a nearby doorway, and the three all glanced over simultaneously as four faces tumbled out of the doorway. Yao gave a long-suffering sigh, standing from his throne.

“LEON!”

The boy in red, who had before came in and brought the cup, stood up with an almost imperceptible smile. “Yes, _lao shi?_ ”

“You brought the other four here, didn’t you?”

“You had visitors,” replied the boy, almost expressionless. “It’s unusual. You should have invited us.”

“Yeah, _lao shi_!” A girl in a pink _qipao_ stepped forward, the pink flower standing out in her dark hair. “I could’ve made them something to eat! You need to remind us of these things, bastard!”

“YOU WILL ADDRESS ME AS TEACHER!” Yao shook so much that the halo of light around his head seemed to quiver and disappear for a second. That didn’t stop the third person, a boy in purple and white, from stepping forward. There was an errant curl in his hair that seemed to smile just as widely as he did.

“It's okay, _ge ge!_ You can introduce us to them now!” The boy didn’t pause, bouncing forward and grasping Francis’s hand eagerly. “I’m Im Yong Soo! Did you know names were invented in Korea?”

“NOT EVERYTHING WAS INVENTED IN KOREA,” Yao bawled, at this point having thoroughly lost control. He was completely ignored, however, as a fourth person appeared -- a girl in a green _ao dai_ , wielding a paddle in a rather threatening fashion.

“Give it a rest, Yong Soo!” She leapt forward, thwacking him smartly with the flat of the paddle; the boy gave a cry of protest and yanked back, leaving Francis with his hand outstretched, thoroughly confused. He glanced up toward the girl in green and froze suddenly.

“ENOUGH!”

A thin tongue of fire shot out of Yao’s palm, and everyone abruptly fell silent. The Sun God fell back into his throne, covering his eyes and groaning loudly. Yong Soo stepped forward hesitantly.

“Big brother...”

“I’ll be fine, Yong Soo.” Yao sighed. “Just give me a few minutes. In the meantime, though...”

Yao lifted his head slightly, fixing Francis and Alfred with a cold stare.

“If you two know anything about the Gods, you would know that the Gods of Law cannot lie to you explicitly, unless by omission. I’m not lying to you when I say that you cannot reach the King’s castle without knowing the way. And no one, not even the God of Knowledge, knows that way. No one but the King himself.”

Alfred stared at him. “Wait, so-”

“I said enough!” Yao whined weakly, hands still shielding his eyes. “Can you idiots leave me alone for a second? Yong Soo, Mei, take care of Alfred. Lien, Leon, go take Francis to a separate room. They’ll have their decisions ready for us by the end of the day.”

* * *

 

Cruz knocked twice on Matthew’s door and was immediately pulled in.

“Do you have the stuff?” Matthew asked, face aglow with excitement.

Cruz rolled his eyes, but he was excited too. After finding the painting, he and Matthew had spent the rest of the day trying to figure out who she was, but none of the books in their immediate vicinity had anything about her; they had almost given up, but Cruz remembered Arthur mentioning his private library and that it was “Off limits, and if you _somehow_ got near it, it would be impossible for you to get in anyway.”

He had pitched the idea to Matthew nervously; Arthur couldn’t really do anything to Cruz, but Matthew’s soul was still in limbo and he really didn’t want his friend’s soul to be violently ripped out or anything equally bad, but Matthew had apparently gotten serious about figuring out what was going on with this lady and so he was all for the plan.

Cruz pulled a small key ring out of his pocket. “Yeah. Do you know how long I had to listen to him whine about the energy it takes to open portals before I could grab this?”

Matthew shrugged semi-apologetically, and took the key, examining the intricately carved head. “This will help us get into the library?”

“No, sorry socio, it’s only guaranteed to get us into the restricted area.”

“But we won't accidentally go through that fifth floor door, right?”

Cruz snorted, “Like you’d need only _one_ key for that horrible thing. Nah, we’re good.”

“Okay, then we can do this,” Matthew said, more to himself then Cruz, and nodded. “Let’s go.”

* * *

 

“Leon, can you find Francis another glove?” Francis felt small, warm hands land on his shoulders as the girl in green -- Lien -- led him into a golden room. The boy in red trailed closely behind, saying nothing. While Francis appreciated the fact that he hadn’t been stuck with the overly active ‘Yong Soo’ or the brash ‘Mei,’ he was beginning to get thrown off by the fact that both his companions were virtually expressionless.

The bronze door shut behind him, and that left him and Lien alone. The girl furrowed her brow as she wrapped bandages around the broken wrist, but her face otherwise remained expressionless.

“I’ve seen you before.”

“Have you?” Lien’s voice was hinting at disbelief, eyes not leaving Francis’s wrist.

“Yes.” There was a pause. “The first time was before I met my wife. You were starving on the side of the street, and I gave you something to eat. And then recently, when I went to Yao’s priest. I left the church, and you were standing there. You stared at me for a bit, and then someone passed in front of you and you vanished.”

She said nothing.

“Who are you?”

“Yao’s little sister,” came her immediate answer. Her words were quick and clipped, but still monotone. “And I can assure you that I haven’t starved a day in my life.”

Francis raised an eyebrow, and Lien continued wrapping the wound a bit before sighing.

“Yes, fine. I may have gone hungry before. But those days were far before you were born.” She finished up the bandages with a neat clasp, laying the wrist down and standing. “But I think I remember you, too.”

Francis raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, you were the only fool who gave me food while I was testing my own endurance.” She scoffed. “Haven’t you heard of the Servants of the Sun before? A cult that follows my brother, who live monk-like lives and attempt to rid themselves of earthly wants in exchange for what they see as ‘enlightenment.’” She snorted. “Absolutely foolish. But those who are completely foolish are also rather interesting. I was simply experimenting, nothing more. And one of the things forbidden from the Sun Servants during their initiation training is food.”

“Well how was I supposed to know?!” Francis twisted his wrist; a small stab of pain shot up his arm, but overall it was much better than before. “It’s not like there were any indications-”

“Historically, Sun Servants lie face down with their hands tucked underneath them. Normal beggars understand and respect the importance we place on suffering and generally sit either upright or with their hands outstretched...that, and they don’t want to be mistaken as a Servant because they want food, and you’re not supposed to give food to Sun Servants. They teach you this when you learn about social classes in elementary school.”

Francis scowled. “Shut up.”

“Gladly,” she replied monotonously. There was silence as she stepped back towards the door, staring at Francis as she stood like a gatekeeper at the latch.

Francis raised an eyebrow. “Can I ask why you’re still here?”

“First, so Leon gets you a new glove.” Her mouth barely moved. “Secondly, to escort you when you make your decision.”

“...Hm.” Francis groaned, flopping backwards. This had been happening more and more often lately, and he wasn’t exactly overjoyed at the entire affair. “Well, don’t just stand there. Sit down and help.”

“...Help?” Lien sat, looking at the door uneasily. “I’m only meant to sit and wait. I’m not supposed to ‘help.’”

“Oh, come on,” Francis scoffed. “I don’t know what you are, but you live with Yao and apparently are his sister, so you’re bound to know more about the contract than I do. Tell me a bit about it, then?”

The girl hesitated. “...No.”

“Oh, come on!” Francis froze abruptly. “Am I sounding more and more like the annoying boy I entered this realm with?”

“Yes.” Lien snorted.

“...Damn it.”

Lien gave a small chuckle, and for a single second Francis almost felt like he was talking to a familiar friend.

And then the door opened and Leon tiptoed in, laying a metallic glove in front of Francis with a polite bow. Lien schooled her expression easily, bowed deeply, and the two siblings turned and left the room.

* * *

 

Elizaveta was finally done tending to townspeople, telling them everything she was allowed -- from which color they should wear on the next day to informing them of exactly what horrible situation in their future they need to prepare for -- and she was more than ready to head to her home and see what havoc Roderich and Gilbert had inflicted upon it. She loved the people in this town, she really did, but they were honestly exhausting. They were all so _boring_ , only asking things that they already half-knew, never taking real chances with looking into the future. The effort that it took to not share her extreme foresight with someone who wasn’t her housemate or Yao was taxing.

Which was why she had been ecstatic when she met Jeanne D’Arc, a woman with relatively strong foresight of her own, who came to Elizaveta to confirm things -- to ask questions that actually mattered, in the grand scheme of things; questions that Elizaveta was more than happy to answer, as long as the answer wasn’t forbidden to mortals and/or a part of one of Arthur’s convoluted plans.

Speaking of…

“Good afternoon, Elizaveta. How are you today?” Arthur Kirkland -- God King, source of all of Elizaveta's current problems, jerk extraordinaire -- sat casually in his comfy armchair, sipping tea, as if he hadn’t just teleported her to his dumb palace when she was trying to get back home.

Well, if he could act like he didn’t know why she was there, she could as well. “Fine; I could be better, you know, what with the completely unexpected, unwarranted displacement and all.”

“Good, good,” Arthur nodded as though he hadn’t even heard her jab, but the slight twitch of his eye and the light furrow between his considerable eyebrows were dead giveaways. “Now, I’m sure you can guess why I’ve called you here.”

“No, I don’t think I can, actually. You might have to give me a push to remember.” Elizaveta almost laughed at the look on his face, because she was still bitter about her favorite crystal ball and riling him up was the only thing she could do for revenge (Well, she supposed she could always ask the twins, but there were no promises that something wouldn’t go horribly wrong there), but she kept herself composed. The best way to get to him was to act like you had no idea you were doing anything wrong.

“It’s about our timeline,” he put down the teacup with a heavy _clink_ , finally looking directly at her, the light behind his eyes meaning that he was dangerously serious.

But Elizaveta had already Seen this conversation, several times in fact, and while her memory wasn’t perfect, she knew what she had to say.

“If you wanted to know how our surprisingly resilient adventurers are doing then you only had to go ask Roderich, no need to force me over here.”

“You _Know_ that’s not what I’m asking about!” Arthur’s temper flared as he stood, “I want to you to tell me how I can speed this bloody thing up!”

And she had him, hook, line, and sinker. Elizaveta’s neutral face may or may not have become a smirk for a half-second before she spoke, her low, calm voice clashing with his sharp irritation. “I can only see to the end of our cycle, Arthur. What’s happening right now is the fastest future I Know of.”

That was a lie, of course. The absolute fastest future was the one where Alfred didn’t manage to sway the mortal king, and died by Francis’ own sword in the throne room. If she wanted to tell him the fastest future now that the mortals were surviving hell, against all odds, then she’d have mentioned something about Kiku panicking and accidentally killing them in his cave, or Ivan not trusting Alfred and entrapping them forever when he had the chance, or Yao burning them for offending him, or she could even just suggest that Arthur trap them and turn them over to Lovino for target practice.

Luckily for them, she didn’t want the fastest future.

Arthur’s face turned to an intense scowl, but before he could call her out more, she spoke. “And, in nearly every future, if you want things to turn out favorably, you need to go see Jeanne in about… 30 seconds.”

Elizaveta smirked at the puff of green smoke and barely comprehensible, half-muttered curses that accompanied his disappearance, because it had worked. He did, in fact, have to go see Jeanne soon, but if she had told him a minute sooner, he’d have returned her home before leaving.

And she needed to be in the castle, especially if she wanted to prolong this future.

“Now,” she said to herself, looking at the doors that lined the walls of Arthur’s study, “I have a library to open.”

* * *

 

There was a knock on his door, and Francis shifted in his bedroll and yawned.

“Come in,” he sighed.

Lien entered the room, wrinkling her nose at the sight of the numerous pieces of Francis’s armor lying around the room. The Knight had obviously made himself comfortable, lying on the bamboo mat in his loose tunic and trousers.

“Mei made dan zai noodles.” She sat a tray down on the floor next to Francis, frowning slightly at him.

“Hm,” The Frenchman grinned. “Thank you, _ma cheri._ ”

Lien stared at him contemplatively for a second, and then proceeded to pick up the bowl of hot soup in both hands and pour it slowly onto his head.

“ _SACRE-_ ” Francis struggled to get out of the thin blankets, but instead simply tangled himself in them as the girl continued to loop thick circles of liquid onto his forehead with a stoic expression.

Lien set the empty bowl down as Francis finally stopped struggling and lay flat, huffing as noodles and sopping wet hair fell into his eyes. “What was that for?”  
“You are a fool,” she said simply.

“Look, I get that you take the whole _Servants of the Sun_ thing seriously-”

“No.” She shook her head. “You are a fool because you are considering my brother’s proposition.”

“Why?” Francis sat up, trying to hide his eagerness for concrete answers and guidance. “If what he says is true, the only way to save Mathieu is to make a contract-”

“You heard my brother. He said making a contract is the only way he knew of to _get there._ He did not guarantee this boy’s safety.”

“But when we asked, he said it was possible-”

Lien picked up the bowl again, hurling it against a wall. Francis flinched as the china shattered into pieces.

“Idiot fool!” She scowled openly -- it was the first intense emotion she’d shown in front of him. “Do you not know the reason why the Sun Servants worship, the motto we live by? It’s carved into every effigy of the sun deity, wheresoever it may be -- I am sure you have seen it at least once. ‘Everything can be done, have you the knowledge to do it.’ Yes, it is probably possible for someone to save the boy through a contract. Maybe a God, or a superhuman. An idiot knight who openly scorns knowledge and a foolish child that gets into ridiculous antics? Give me a break.”

Francis sat up, mouth open and frozen in shock as salty soup dripped off his face.

“So what do you suggest?”

“Exactly what my brother would tell you, if he truly wanted to help you save your friend.” Lien’s golden eyes, strongly reminiscent of Yao’s, glittered brightly. “‘Everything can be done, have you the knowledge to do it.’ There must be some other way -- something that does not involve your imminent demise. You may not know it. Alfred F. Jones may not know it. For Pete’s sake, the God of Knowledge, Yao Wang, may not know it. But _someone_ out there does.”

“The King God.”

Lien shrugged. “Perhaps. But someone must. There must be some way for you. You and your friend don’t have the discipline to worm your way out of a soul-binding contract. But maybe you two have the luck to find a better way.”

The two stared at each other, Lien’s hands frozen in motion as her breathing slowed and her wide, excited expression slowly closed off again. Francis shook his head slowly, droplets of salt shaking onto the floor.

“Why are you helping me? Don’t you want to help your brother?”

Lien rubbed her elbow in what appeared to be a nervous tic, sighing deeply. “My brother does what he has to do. He’s _always_ done what he has to do...it doesn’t always end well, though. And I want to see it end nicely, for someone else if not for our family. Yao is always good at making things seem logical. I want you to show him that what is logical might not be right.”

Francis stood slowly, looking down at Lien. She looked much younger than the great knight, but her stoic expression revealed emotional control beyond her perceived years.

“Lien...what are you?”

There was a pause. Soup continued to drip from Francis’s hair, and he would have laughed had he not been waiting with bated breath for Lien’s answer.

“...My brother,” Lien looked away, eyes hard. “He may not understand emotion, but he loves our family. He was heartbroken when Kiku left us...and since then, everything he does has been with the family in mind. I do believe he would die for us, if he had to. And, when presented with desperate situations, I have no doubt that he made a rash, illogical decision. Something that ended in misery for all of us.”

* * *

 

“YAO!”

The Sun God looked up as Francis barged into the room, Leon and Lien hot on his heels. “Ah, Bonnefoy. Have you come to your decision yet?”

Francis growled, attempting to step forward, only to be stopped by an invisible barrier inches from reaching the throne. Exasperated, he shouted, “You tried to trick us -- you were going to doom Matthew!”

Yao blinked. “I never said-”

“Don’t play psychological games with me, you hideous creature!” Francis spat a noodle into Yao’s face; it hit the barrier and slid downward, Yao’s eyes following it distastefully. “Are you so heartless that you’d ruin not only a stranger’s life, but your family’s too?”

Yao stared into Francis’s face, and then laughed bitterly. His teeth glinted brightly as he threw his head back, so blinding that Francis had to look away. When he finally calmed down, his face was hard and heartless -- his expression was cold as ice.

“Quiet, ignorant mortal.” When he opened his mouth, he spoke with three different voices. Francis recognized standard Novan, Eastern, and what he assumed to be the archaic language of the Gods. “You really don’t understand anything, do you? I was telling the truth when I said that only the King God knows the way to his circle. What I have presented you may not be a good option, but it is impressive considering your circumstances.” He paused, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. “As for my family, I made an error of judgment before I truly knew what judgment was, and I’m spending the rest of my immortal life trying to make up for it.” He glared over at Lien and Leon; though his expression was still hard, the lines of his face seemed to soften. “All I wanted was my family’s eternal happiness. I thought they understood that.”

“That doesn’t mean you use your godly powers to make them immortal against their will!” Francis scowled. “Honestly, just because you’re a God doesn’t mean you know what your family wants better than they do!”

Yao glanced coldly over to his family. “Do neither of you want to speak in my defense?”

Lien stared up at him, and for a second her eyes seemed to go sad and she opened her mouth -- but then she shut it with a sigh. Leon looked down to the ground, shuffling his feet and mumbling.

“...I see.” Yao sighed, leaning back against his throne. He stared up into the blinding light above them, the sun far too bright for any mere mortal to look into. “I have nothing to say to you or your friend any longer. Just leave my realm.”

Francis blinked. “Wait-”

“GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!”

The invisible bubble surrounding Yao’s throne burst into a sphere of lashing flames, blazing wildly as Yao’s eyes burst into scarlet. Lien stepped forward.

“ALL OF YOU, LEAVE!” Yao’s voice, previously tripled, melted back into one voice -- throaty, choked. He reverted to Eastern, yelling at his family in melodic but primitive tones that Francis didn’t understand. Leon continued to look at the ground, speaking in Eastern but not looking at Yao. Lien stared up at the Sun God sadly and answered just as vehemently with a few phrases of her own.

Francis looked at the three of them as if watching a sport he didn’t understand. Yao spit one final sentence, the fire burning from red to white-hot, and Lien grabbed her brother and Francis and dragged them out of the room. The door shut on the screeching, raging Eastern man with a thump.

* * *

 

Matthew and Cruz stared at the door, the only thing between them and the restricted section of the palace.

“Ready?” Cruz asked, not taking his eyes off the larger than normal door (He might as well have put a sign that said “Hey, this is an important door!” on it).

Matthew nodded once, “As I’ll ever be.”

Cruz turned the key, opening the door and…

They were in another hallway.

“Are you fucking me?” Cruz asked the empty hall, nearly identical to the one they’d just left, the change in door size being the only real difference.

He had been ready for traps, for barren halls and secret passageways, but having to walk through more hallway? Cruz loved exploring nearly empty rooms as much as the next hopelessly bored eternal servant, but this was overkill.

He just wanted to find a library, was that too much to ask?

“Cruz, look!” Matthew’s excited shout broke Cruz out of his sulking, “The doors have signs on them!”

And they did, for some reason. The one behind him said, in surprisingly flowy script, “Main Area”, and to his left was a study of some kind (Four of the doors were labeled “Study”, and Cruz didn’t particularly want to tempt fate by looking into any of them). The boys set off down the hall, searching for a library.

When they finally found it, it’s sign and door weathered and cracked, as though someone had tried to destroy it, Cruz could do nothing but look, the weight of the line they were about to cross weighing down on his shoulders. “Here we are.”

“Here we are,” Matthew echoed, his hand on the doorknob but unmoving.

Cruz nudged his companion, and Matthew quickly opened the door.

Only to see _another hallway_. Possibly the very hallway that they were in, if Arthur had used some sort of infinite hallway spell, because fuck if that didn’t sound just like something he would do. After a moment of consideration, Cruz poked his head through the door/portal and noted, with a feeling in the pit of his stomach because it was _really_ weird, that if his ability to see himself a little ways down was any indicator, the hall shown through the doorway was definitely the very hallway they were in.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

Cruz slammed the door and groaned, “What now?”

Matthew scrunched up his nose, thinking it over. “There wouldn’t be signs if it was just a hall-full of wraparound portals. And, with what I know about the King, he doesn’t seem like the type to make a bunch of useless portals.”

“There has to be a way in,” Cruz said firmly, despite not knowing what that way possibly could be.

“If only there were instructions somewhere…” Matthew trailed off, before smiling slightly and saying jokingly, “Hey, if I pray to one of the Gods, do you think it’d work?”

“Not particularly,” A feminine voice behind them chimed, and both men jumped, “That’d be a prayer for luck, and I don’t think that he even knows how to get here.”

“Wh-Who?” Cruz stuttered out, not turning from the strange woman who had just appeared seemingly out of thin air.

“Oh, silly me, sorry,” She laughed and held out a hand to shake, “My name is Elizaveta, Goddess of the Future, and I’m here to help you win.”

* * *

 

Lien strode purposefully down the hallway, trailed closely by Leon. Her hand was gripping Francis’s sleeve roughly, and the Frenchman let himself be dragged, jogging to keep up.

“Lien? What was he saying?”

She didn’t reply, instead opening her mouth and yelling in Eastern down the hallway. Almost immediately, Mei and Yong Soo poked their heads out the door.

“Lien?” Mei gave her a questioning look. “What’s going on?”

The expressionless girl replied in Eastern and Mei and Yong Soo followed suit, leaving Francis entirely in the dark. Mei turned back into the room, disappearing, as Yong Soo and Lien continued to speak, Yong Soo’s expression growing hard as he listened. Mei resurfaced, face grim, with Alfred beside her. The boisterous American rubbed his eyes, yawning. “Wuzgoinon?”

“You’re leaving,” Mei said firmly, pushing him into the hallway. “Evidently you’re not taking the contract. What’s going on right now is a family matter, and you’re not involved. Leave.”

“What?” Francis looked at Lien expectantly. “But I am involved. I brought the attention to it-”

“You acted stupidly, Francis Bonnefoy,” replied the stoic girl. She didn’t look at him. “You are dealing with something you do not understand. You shouldn’t have assumed or interfered.”

“Assumed?” Francis blinked. “What did I assume incorrectly?”

None of the four replied, instead setting a brisk pace down the hallway. All gave off a vibe of hostility.

Alfred glanced up at Francis. “What’d you do this time, Frenchy?”

“Nothing!” Instinctively, Francis felt a twinge of annoyance. “I just wanted to help-”

“The road to hell is paved with good intentions.” The four stopped at a door, Lien’s face curling up into a snarl. “How fortunate that hell is exactly where you two want to go.”

“Damn, she’s terrifying.” Alfred hissed at Francis out of the corner of his mouth, eyebrows drawing together. “Seriously though, what the hell did you do?”

The Knight was cut off as Yong Soo opened the door, bowing sarcastically. Leon grabbed onto Francis while Mei grabbed onto Alfred, and the two found themselves forcefully thrown out the door and onto the dry, cracked earth outside. Lien looked down at them, and for a single second, her eyes softened again.

“I will give you a hint, Francis Bonnefoy.” She spoke from the doorway. “Do you see the Gods as cruel, fickle beings that turn on a dime and switch emotions at random, bringing down civilized people with them?”

Francis said nothing. He didn’t have to; he could tell, here in the realm of knowledge, that Lien already knew.

“The Gods are different, mortals.” Her eyes hardened again, the moment lost. “I do not say this to inspire reverence or to bring around more mindless worship -- they _are_. You cannot possibly fathom what Yao has gone through, what our _family_ has gone through. He may have done some things wrong. But he meant for the best and did not expect the outcome, in ways you cannot even _begin_ to imagine. So here is your one and only free clue -- because knowledge costs a lot, after all.”

The door began closing. Francis heaved his head off the grass, ignoring the erratic working of his lungs (the air had been knocked out when he made contact with the ground) and catching one final glimpse of four glaring faces.

“There is much more to the Gods than you think.” Lien’s mouth curved, and from his distance Francis couldn’t tell if it was moving upwards or downwards. “Much, _much_ more. You would do well to remember that.”

The door slammed with a sense of finality, and the ground in front of them warped. The humid air, the stench of burning, the bright golden house and the even brighter, blinding sky all blurred in front of Francis’s face as the third circle of hell faded from the two adventurer’s sights.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Iris and I are both doing nanowrimo this year, so you probably won't hear from us again until late December, early January (Maybe even mid-Dec if I get procrastinate-y with my nano. Also if we just write next chapter fast, because chapter 6 will be SO MUCH FUN TO WRITE!!!!). Sorry.
> 
> Please comment or kudo or w/e


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our heroes meet Past, Present, and Future; Cruz and Matthew actually get into the library; Jeanne reaches out to Arthur; and we unironically use the phrase "moe tears"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOUD SCREAMING

When the air around him stopped crazy, Alfred found himself in the center of a particularly ornate palace. There were detailed portraits on the walls, a bearskin rug beneath their backs, and the merry crackle of wood in the fireplace. Alfred’s hand was numb, but he lifted it slowly anyway and pushed his glasses further over his eyes. A small, hand carved table with two teacups and a platter of sandwiches came into view.

“...What the actual fuck?”

A hand wavered into view, blurry in the corner of his vision. It grabbed the teacup and swivelled it around, picking it up. Alfred heard the slurp of tea, and watched the cup being put back into place.

“So you’re awake.”

Alfred winced as he was pulled upward by the scruff of his neck, grumbling as he rubbed at his neck and shot Francis a reproachful glance. Said knight was sitting up on the carpet, glaring grumpily up at the table.

“Oi, Frenchie, what was that for?” Alfred scowled. “I get that it’s easy for you, not being strangled and all, but some people have necks--”

Francis cut him off, raising a hand and pointing a single finger past Alfred. The American followed the direction, glancing upward into one startlingly familiar, violet-eyed face.

“Sir Roderich?”

* * *

“You’re going to help us?” Matthew asked, cocking his head a bit, and Elizaveta had to hold in a squeal. The looking glass hadn't done this one’s cuteness justice.

“Of course! It is in my best interest to help you, after all...and I guess it is kind of my fault that you’re here...”

Matthew nodded, ready to accept her assistance, but Cruz pulled him off the the side, eyeing her warily, and began whispering to him urgently. Elizaveta could almost imagine the conversation:

_Cruz would gaze deeply into Matthew’s eyes, hypnotized by the light, near-purple color, and say, “Mateo, socio, I don’t want to share you with anyone else, especially not that super hot goddess over there.”_

_“Cruz,” Matthew would whisper, eyes sparkling with unshed moe tears, “I… I would never leave you for anyone else. Never ever.”_

_And then Cruz would huff, his face lighting up with the power of a million tsundere blushes, and say “Fine, she can help us. But only as long as she stays away from you because, as I previously said, she’s really pretty and totally a threat to me because of her attractiveness.”_

… Okay, Elizaveta Knew that the conversation was just Cruz insisting that they get out while they could because the floral-print wearing man didn’t trust any of the Gods, but hey, a girl could dream.

“And,” She started, taking a quick look down one of the strands of possible future, “If Arthur finds you milling around out here, you’ll pay dearly, so letting me help you is in your best interest as well; and it’s not like you can get into the library without a God anyway.”

The boys look at her, then each other again. Cruz groaned.

“Oh jode, fine, we’ll let the Goddess who probably wants to eventually screw us over help us. Lead the way, lady.”

And Elizaveta was more than glad to open the door, revealing hundreds of tall bookshelves. She, for a moment, allowed herself to enjoy the looks of despair on the boys’ faces, but then was down to business. “Correct me if I’m wrong, as I do sometimes get my Future and the current mixed up, but you want to find information about Br-” She slapped a hand to her mouth, cursing the mistake she had almost made. Even if she could get away with helping the mortals, uttering _Her_ name was almost guaranteed to set off Arthur’s ‘Someone is doing something they’re not allowed to do’ senses.

“Bronwen?” Matthew finished uncertainly, before brightening when Elizaveta began nodding enthusiastically, “Yes, that’s who we want to know about. Do you know where we could start?”

“I do. The information that you want would be…” Elizaveta closed her eyes, hoping that she could use a future version of herself for help. “Down the first shelf-gap to our left, past seven aisles, left two more gaps, one row back, and on the row third to the bottom.”

“Alright…” Matthew nodded slowly, his body language betraying his confusion, “So it’s left to the third gap from the back?”

Elizaveta sighed fondly; humans were _adorable_. “I can just lead you both if you-”

“Yes please,” Cruz grabbed Matthew, who had been about to deny their need for help, “I’d like to not double die because we get lost in a fucking library labyrinth.”

* * *

“Hm.” The Austrian aristocrat fixed Alfred with a cold stare, though his lips quirked slightly upward as he stood. “I suppose I must introduce myself; I am Roderich Edelstein--”

“Shut up.” Francis stood, slowly, upper lip curling into a snarl. He propelled himself off the floor and approached the nobleman, who was looking rather affronted by the intimidating Frenchman. Francis paused in front of him, glaring.

“...Yes?”

“I’ve worked in the court for years now.” Francis spoke lowly, breathing hard through his nose. Roderich wrinkled his nose. “I’ve seen you stand behind our king as he denounced the Gods and what they stood for.  You--you--”

The room fell silent. Francis raised a fist, as if to punch the royal in the face. Roderich fixed him with a cold stare, silently reminding him of the implications.

And then the fist lowered as Francis bowed his head, hair falling over his eyes. Alfred looked up at the noble.

“I know who you are, Sir... you’re a Duke, Sir Roderich Edelstein.” Alfred stood slowly, fixing his own stare at Roderich. The God smirked in return.

“Then, as someone from the lower class, you would know to bow in front of me.”

“I may have been taught by my ma to bow in front of nobles, sir, but I can’t say she ever told me what to do in front of Gods.” Alfred gave a small smirk. “But, if you’d like, I suppose I’ll bow to you if you do the same to me.”

Roderich inclined his head, bending his waist, head up as he continued to glare past Francis at Alfred. The boy paused a bit before following, barely bending his back.

“Well then.” Roderich swept past Francis, who was still inhaling and exhaling loudly. “Now, I suppose you’ll be wanting something since you’re here. I should tell you, though; I can’t concoct a medicine to bring your brother back. I do diseases, not deaths and disappearances.”

“...What?”

“You can’t possibly mean that--”

“Cut the bullshit.” Francis’s voice was monotone. “You’re a God. You know why we’re here.”

“I assure you, good sir, I have no idea what you’re talking about--”

“Aw, what the hell?!”

Roderich cursed under his breath as a white haired, red eyed man stumbled into the room. His hand clutched onto a silver flask as he staggered into a wall, eyes squinting as he finally focused onto Francis.

“Hey, it’s my good buddy Francis!” The man nearly bowled the surprised knight over as he fell toward him. “What’re you doing in my house, bro? How ya been?”

“Gilbert, my friend?” Francis’s eyes widened. “You’re not--”

“...Oh.” Gilbert abruptly frowned. His eyes cleared up, but he remedied it by quickly taking a large swig of alcohol. “Yeah, I’m a fuckin’ God.” He sighed. “It sucks, I tell you. We’re all so pretentious...an’...an’ we’re fuckin’ bastards. Hate being one of them.” Gilbert raised the silver to his lips again, gazing unseeingly beyond Francis’s shoulder into the wall as his mouth twitched upward. “Fuckin’ bastards.”

Francis paused hesitantly before he stretched out his hand and patted Gilbert on the shoulder. “I think...I think I’m with you on that one.”

Gilbert smiled up at him blearily. “Thanks, man. Haven’t seen Antonio lately; it’d be a shame to have you hate me too.”

“Ah, yes...would you happen to know where Antonio is?” Francis carefully avoided mentioning omnipotent powers; goodness knows Gilbert was easily riled up when drunk.

“He’s probably been cursed into a fucking tomato again. Mr. Revenge is kinda a hardass, dontcha think? I dunno why ‘Tonio thought it’d be a good idea to date him--”

“Wait, what?” Francis’s eyebrows creased. “Antonio’s a God? Also, he’s never had a partner; he’s always flirting with random girls at the bar--”

“Well, no dip. Why do you think we know each other so well? As for those girls, he’s just trying to make Mr. Revenge God show some feelings, the sneaky bastard.” Gilbert chuckled. “Like half the time the girls end up as cows or some shit. Revenge is a bitch.”

“O...kay?” The French knight sighed, running a hand through his luscious golden hair. “At any rate, it’s good to see you. How have you been?”

“Drunk off my ass, man. It’s awesome.” Gilbert grinned. “And how’re you doing? Still going after that Canadian dude? You should probably get a move on with that--he’s not getting any safer.”

“You know how to get to him?” Alfred stepped forward. “Is he in danger? Why isn’t he safe? What’s the King God going to do to him?”

“...Shit, it’s you.” Gilbert sighed.

“HEY! What’s that supposed to mean?!”

“No, I just meant...” The albino took a swig from his flask. “You look hella like Matthew. You’re his twin brother, Alfred, aren’t you?”

“Damn straight I am!” Alfred stepped forward, and, to Francis’s great surprise, picked Gilbert up by the scruff of his neck. He really _did_ have that fabled award-winning strength, after all. “Now tell me what the goddamn fuck some creepy B-is-for-B-rate god wants with Mattie!”

“Holy fuckshit, you’re loud.” Gilbert groaned, dropping his flask as his eyes refocused. He sobered in seconds--probably some sort of godly tolerance. “I can see why Matthew says that about you.”

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING TO MY BROTHER?!”

The albino sighed as he was lowered to the ground, staring into Alfred’s eyes. “...Hm.”

“Gilbert.”

All three turned to see Roderich fixing Gilbert with piercing violet eyes. “Gilbert, you know the rules.”

“Liz breaks the rules,” Gilbert countered, taunting. “Why the fuck can’t I? I’m not gonna be caught dead being less ballsy than Liz, that’s for sure.”

“Liz?” Francis’s eyes widened. “You don’t mean--”

“This is for the good of all of us, Gilbert, please--”

“It may be the good for all of you, but it ain’t doing much for me, man. You know that.” Gilbert snorted, ignoring Roderich’s warning stare.

“Be as that may, at the moment our King God still has jurisdiction over you. _Follow the rules._ ”

“Damn, I guess I owe Liz ten bucks after all.” Gilbert clapped one hand onto Alfred’s shoulder and another onto Francis’s. “She was telling me I couldn’t get you to stop being a hardass.”

“ _Gilbert._ ”

Gilbert ignored the nobleman, guiding them out of the room. The door shut on Roderich’s cry of warning. “Now, you little bastards. Let’s have a good old fashioned chat, shall we?”

~*~*~*~*~

“JEANNE D’ARC!”

Arthur burst into existence out of a swirl of tea leaves, stepping out of the chaotic mass. The leaves disappeared as he thundered down the stars, searching wildly in all the rooms of the Bonnefoy House before stumbling into said girl in the kitchen.

“What is it?” She gestured toward the pan she was working from. “I was just making some crepes. It’s a shame you didn’t get to try the fry cart, so I thought I’d whip something up.” She peered closer. “What’s the matter? I thought you said you’d be back in an hour. It’s only been a couple of minutes.” She squinted even more. “Also, where did you come from?”

“Er...I snuck in through the w... ind... ooooowwww?” Arthur trailed off as Jeanne raised an eyebrow.

"The window?"

“Yes? I was... running away... from...”

“From?”

“Froooooooommmmmmmmmm…” Arthur blinked “From... it’s on the tip of my tongue...”

“Yes?”

“Elizaveta!” Arthur’s expression cleared as he nodded. “Elizaveta. I made her angry, so I was trying to avoid her and came in through the window. She guessed that I would come back and was blocking the door.”

“Really? Because I didn’t see Liz at her stall earlier today when I was out getting groceries.” Jeanne smiled.

“She must’ve come back right after you left, then.”

“I didn’t hear her outside my door, either.”

“Yeah, she was being oddly quiet.” Arthur shook his head. “She must’ve not wanted to alert you.”

“Huh. Weird.” Jeanne shrugged, turning back to the stove. “At any rate, once we’ve got these crepes, I was thinking that we could go down the market and get you some better fitting clothes. If you’re really gonna live with us, then we should find something that fits you.”

“You… I’m going to live with you?” Arthur blinked.

“Well, yeah.” Jeanne’s mouth twisted upwards into a smile. “I mean, there’s a lot of things I don’t know about you, and you do tell some tall tales every once in a while, but you seem nice enough. You might not get along with Francis at first--you’ve got widely differing personalities like you wouldn’t believe--but I think overall I’d love to have you live with us.” She paused. “Only if you wanted to, of course. I don’t know if you’re planning on moving on soon or finding an apartment, but if you’d really like to stay, you’re welcome to for as long as you’d like.”

Arthur paused. What should have come out of his mouth was something about having to leave soon, but instead all he could manage was a weak “Are you sure?”

“Of course.” Jeanne smiled again. “You seem perfectly nice. I’d very much like to get to know you more.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

“Alright, take a seat.” Gilbert directed them to two nearby armchairs, ignoring the pounding on the locked door. “Do you guys want something to drink? Wine? Beer? Whiskey?”

“Do you have anything non-alcoholic?” Alfred wrinkled his nose.

“Er...” The albino looked around. “Roddy just used our water to steep tea...so no?”

“Of course not.” Alfred groaned. “I’m fine, thanks.

“Your oldest wine, please.” Francis sniffed.

“That’s pretty old, man.” Gilbert grinned, striding over to the cabinet and pulling out an unlabelled wooden cup. Francis grabbed it and sniffed.

“How old is this, exactly?” The Frenchman took a tentative gulp and made a face, causing Gibert to snicker.

“About eighteen thousand years or so, nothing special.”

Alfred gave off a girly shriek as Francis spit the wine out. Gilbert snickered.

“What, couldn’t handle it?” He grinned. “Alrighty, here’s a three hundred year. Vintage. Take a sniff.”

Francis leaned over cautiously, his expression clearing as the fumes met his nose. “Not bad, my friend. Where did you get this? We haven’t got this sort of alcohol in the bar we frequent.”

“Just a little something from my private stores.” Gilbert smiled. “C’mon, you didn’t think someone as awesome as me would be broke, did you?”

“Dirt poor. Penniless.” Francis shrugged. “You never seem to work, after all. I thought you were a drunk hobo.”

“Francis! I’m scandalized!” Gilbert placed a hand on his heart. “The awesome me could never be poor! This baby rolls with the high life!”

“The nobles are trash,” Alfred cut in with a smirk. “You are trash.”

“SHUT UP, YOU FUCKING NOOB.” Gilbert scowled. “Methinks the lady has been spending too much time on the revolutionary community forum bulletin boards.”

“Back to the point.” Francis sat forward. “What are they planning to do with Matthew?”

“Oh, ya mean Mr. Unawesome God Kingbrows?” Gilbert sniffed. “He generally leaves me the fuck alone, which is more than he does for most of the other Gods--”

“So basically you don’t know.”

“Au contraire, mon frere!” Gilbert slammed a hand on the bar, snorting. “He leaves me alone ‘cuz he’s scared of me. Because he _knooooows_ that I _knoooooow_ and he’s scared that I’ll blow the brows right off his unawesome plot.”

“...Er, plot?”

“Your French is horrible.” Francis sniffed. “I should really get you to work on the accent next time we drink. Remind me.”

“Deal with it, ya fuzz-topped amphibian.” Gilbert casually flicked his friend the middle finger; Francis grabbed said finger with a grin, letting go after a momentary struggle. “Where was I? Oh, right. Y’see, I’m in the know-how about...hm...50000000000% more than any of the other Gods, Kingbrows included. Of course I know what the fuck he’s doing! But I don’t know if I should tell you, is all.”

“What?” Alfred slammed his own hands onto the table. “Then why drag us out of the room?!”

“Well, first off, to piss off Prissy McAustroness out there.” Gilbert jerked a thumb back toward the locked door, grinning as he knocked back the rest of the cup. “But chill the fuck out, man. I’mma tell you some things, but the whole story? I’m not drunk enough for that, man.”

“....This entire time, we’ve been dealing with you fucking cryptic Gods.” Alfred sighed loudly, running a hand through his hair. “When are we gonna find someone who can fucking tell us the whole story?!”

“Trust me, rookie, I’d tell you if I thought it’d help.” Gilbert snorted. “But first off, telling you wouldn’t really do much. Frankly, your odds are bad, and they probably wouldn’t change if I did. Second of all, this is one of those things you just let happen, man. Like all people die. All civilizations fall. All kings come to corruption. And all the Gods--the Gods--”

The two leaned forward as Gilbert sputtered before grabbing a bottle and tipping it into his throat before slamming it back to the bar. “God damn it. I toldja I wasn’t drunk enough for this.”

“...Okay, my friend.” Francis patted Gilbert on the back cautiously. “Just tell us what you can. And try not to drink as much, please. It cannot be making a good impression on your fellow Gods.”

“Bad impression? Are you kidding?” Gilbert snorted. “Ludwig’s happy as fuck, even though he won’t say anything. And everyone else is chill with it, particularly Kingbrows. He comes to me when he needs some good booze.” He paused. “Besides, I don’t give a fuck what they care. They never really matter anyway.”

“Alright, so what is it?” Alfred leaned forward. “What is it?”

“Ya ready, fledgeling?” Gilbert blinked at him blearily, grinning and offering the bottle. “Sure you don’t want a drink first? You might need it.”

“I don’t plan on drinking until I’m safe at home with my brother,” Alfred snapped. Gilbert gave a derisive laugh.

“Alright there, your noobness. Chill the fuck out. No need to go holier-than-thou on my asshole.” Gilbert snorted. “Kingbrows wants your brother’s soul so he can use the combined power of your brother’s soul, alongside all the others he’s ever gathered, to bring about his miracle.”

“...His miracle?” Alfred furrowed his brows. “What?”

“All the Gods want something. Generally, eventually it’s the same thing.” Gilbert shrugged. “What it is isn’t important. What matters is that, in that process, your brother’s soul is either completely destroyed--meaning it ceases to exist--or it’s...how do I put this? Bonded to a different plane until permanently corrupted. Then it will remain there for an undefined period of time, until--well, until they find a way to break free. And even then, it takes practically another lifetime for them to die and go to the afterlife.” Gilbert lifted his bottle to his lips, ignoring Alfred’s infuriated expression and Francis’s gaping mouth. “But hey, they make it there in the end. I guess that’s all that matters. Although depending on how informed they are and how fast they get corrupted, it takes them anywhere from a human lifetime to over thousands of years.” He shrugged again. “I don’t make the rules, man. I just watch them.”

“Wait.” Alfred paused. “Do you know if my brother’s gonna be destroyed or...er, bonded?”

“Well, given the time, it’s--”

“And that’s as far as you go.”

The three turned around to find Roderich standing in the room. Gilbert turned to the door, but it was still bolted shut.

“Wha--how did you get in?” Francis raised an eyebrow. “Powers or something?”

“...You goddamn bastard.” Gilbert sighed, chuckling. “You used the feathers I gave you, huh.”

Roderich stared at him for a second before reaching into a pocket of his purple cloak. He pulled out his fist and showed off three golden feathers; as they watched, one dissolved into ash.

“You shouldn’t have wasted it on us, Roddy.” Gilbert smirked. “I don’t give those out often. You know the Sacred Phoenix only appears to me once every fifteen thousand years, and I only get ten of those each time. Gilbird’s a fucking miser.” The albino turned to his bar, grabbed a bottle of _Stiegl_ , and threw it at his friend; the Austrian grabbed it without blinking. “Anti-God devices are hard to get by. Save those feathers for something important.”

“This is important.” Roderich scowled. “You know the rules.”

“They don’t affect me--”

“Maybe so, maybe not. You never know when things--”

“They don’t change.” Gilbert didn’t look at Roderich, staring bitterly off into the distance as he tapped his bottle against the bar. “They never change. Some things never change.”

“...Okay, maybe not.” The noble sighed. “But they affect me, and Liz, and all of our other friends. So please, please...just keep it to yourself for now.”

Gilbert paused, sagging in his barstool before rolling his eyes. “ _Ja, ja,_ whatever you say, Hans Prisstian Andersen.”

“Hans _Christian_ Andersen is from Scandanavia!” Roderich stormed over to Gilbert, grabbing the bottle and yanking it out of his grasp. “You’re too drunk.”

“Well ya know what, bitch? I think, after all the shit I’ve been through, I deserve a break.”

“We all have our shit.” Roderich rolled his eyes. “Do you need to take a rest?”

“In Liz’s bed, please.” Gilbert flushed as Francis smirked. “It’s bigger, that’s all! Fucking bitch, using her whole ‘I’m a girl and you should bow to me’ shit.” He sniffed, waving a hand dismissively. “Besides, we all sleep in the same room anyways. Not like that, ya fucking perv!” He backhanded Francis as the Frenchman snickered; the knight simply stumbled back, nodding languidly as if he were used to it (which he probably was). “It’s easier. More rooms for alcohol and all our other shit. We’re three Gods, okay? We’ve got, like, a boatload of shit. Particularly ‘cuz we’re Past, Present, and Future. Time is a hoarder and crap. You know what I mean. But I got more shit than all of them combined, because I’m the awesomest!”

“Awesomest is not a word.” Roderich watched as his friend slumped over the bar. “But you do have the most shit, yes.”

The three waited for Gilbert’s no doubt snarky response. Instead, they simply got a snore. Roderich sighed, long-suffering attitude reappearing.

“And he’s out again.” Roderich shrugged. “Well, I guess he deserves it. What he says is true, you know. He’s been through quite a lot--more than me or Liz could ever imagine, I think.”

“What do you mean by that?” Francis frowned. “I mean...you’re all Gods. Right?”

“Not all of them are made equal.” Roderich turned to the two humans, a scowl beginning to form. “There aren’t a lot of things that are equal. You’ve met Yao, haven’t you?”

“Yes, we have.” Alfred narrowed his eyes. “What of it, blueblood?”

“Ah, you’re one of those peasants, I see.” Roderich sniffed disdainfully. “Well, Yao is a rather respectable man. I agree with him on a lot of points, so I was wondering if he’d imparted some words of wisdom onto you. I am aware that he sent you to us from the fourth circle.”

“Oh, you mean words of wisdom like ‘how to ruin your family and be an asshole 101?’” Francis sighed. “Because yes, yes he did teach us that.”

“Well, if you’ve learned that much, then he also probably told you something he once told me--something I very firmly believe in.” Roderich set down his beer and crossed his arms. “You are mortals, and have no idea--absolutely none--what we’ve been through.” He paused. “As such, it wouldn’t be just to punish you for your ignorance.”

“Oh, right, because we don’t understand how _you_ ruined your own family or how _you_ ruined your own life, so we shouldn’t be smited for simply being around while you threw a piss party.” Alfred gritted his teeth. “Boo fucking hoo, then! Cry me a fucking river, you tyrant, and sail a goddamn gold-gilded boat over it!”

Roderich didn’t react violently; however, the stare he fixed Alfred with quite literally pinned him to the spot, unable to move. The American attempted to dodge away, but his legs refused to obey him as Roderich’s eyes began to glow.

“ _You ignorant fool._ ” The God’s voice had, like Yao’s, multiplied. “ _You have no idea what you’re saying. There are some of us, like Elizaveta, who have suffered for all their lives. There are some, like me, who have suffered for part. And some, like Gilbert, who have suffered for far too long. To say you don’t understand is a gross understatement; you live in a world far removed from ours, a world where you say your prayers and the sun still rises the next day and you don’t have to think about it twice. Nothing you’ve ever experienced comes close to ours; so yes, boo fucking hoo, you hellbent mortal, because you won’t ever understand what roads we walked to get here!_ ”

“...Roads, Roderich?”

The aristocrat spun around to face a perfectly sober Gilbert, who was glaring up at him with dark eyes.

“ _What of it, Past?_ ”

“That’s the thing though.” Gilbert sighed, tilting his head up. “There’s no one who understands better than him, I think; because the road you walked to get here is the same as his.”

Roderich paused. “ _....The same?_ ”

“That’s right.” Gilbert blinked. “You remember what it was like, right? To say your prayers and live uncaring about the sun above your head? Not all of us were that lucky.”

“ _It’s been far too long since that. I can no longer remember it, and it wouldn’t matter if it did. What matters is now._ ”

“Of course you would say that, Present.” Gilbert smirked again; this time, the pockets of his tattered shirt shimmered and he retracted from one a small clock. It ticked backwards, running fast and relentless. His own eyes filled with a crimson glow. “ _But I am not you. You are not the only God here. And I, as Past, am telling you now that it was important. It is to you. And it will be to others. Even the things unremembered remain a part of you; everything now past was once present._ ”

Roderich gazed into Gilbert’s eyes, fire meeting fire, with a frown. When Gilbert’s smirk refused to fade, he sighed. Slowly, his shoulders slumped as he turned back toward a confused Francis and Alfred.

“...My apologies, then.” His words were stiff and clipped as he spoke, tracing a tongue against his teeth.

“Uh...what was that?” Alfred paused, then shook his head. “Y’know what, I don’t care. Let’s just move on to the next layer of hell and try to get my brother out before he becomes soul soup.”

“Very well.” Roderich sniffed. “This would be more Elizaveta’s area than either of ours, I think; however, she’s currently meeting with our Kingbr-- _our king, god damn it!_ Gilbert, you’ve got to stop calling him that, it’s rubbing off on me!” Ignoring Gilbert’s shrieks of amusement, the aristocrat shrugged. “I’m not confident enough in my own skills to get you to the next circle, and Gilbert no longer has that power, so we’ll have to wait for Liz. You’re going to the sixth circle, our next door neighbors to the bottom….um, that’s Antonio, right, Gilbert?”

“And Lovino, if Antonio’s getting lucky when you get there.” The albino smirked. “But last I checked, they were getting in a spat, so I doubt it.”

“I have yet to meet this Lovino,” Francis mused. “I must see what charming boy has stolen my friend’s heart--why are you laughing?”

Gilbert was by now completely hunched over the bar, choking heavily. Even Roderich’s lips twitched upward into a smile. “You’ll find out sooner or later. For now, though, we should get into the parlor to wait for Elizaveta before Gilbert drinks himself under the table again.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

Matthew was honestly a bit nervous about this whole “I’m a God but I still want you to disobey Arthur for some reason, so I’m helping” thing. Maybe it was just Cruz’s paranoia rubbing off on him, but he had been pretty sure that all of the Gods were 100% loyal to the God King or something, and the happy willingness of this Elizaveta -- who look unnervingly familiar to Matthew, even if he couldn’t quite place her face -- to help them find out things that they weren’t supposed to know was slightly off putting.

“Here we are! Everything that we have about She-who-shall-not-be-named is here.” She smiled, motioning to one of the shelves, “I can’t guarantee that you’ll both be satisfied -- I can assure you of the opposite, as a matter of fact -- and if I could just tell you what I Know about Her then things would be _so_ much easier, but it is what it is.”

“Uh, why can’t you just tell us about Bronwen?” Matthew asked, shrinking slightly into himself when the Goddess stared at him.

Elizaveta continued staring at him, almost through him, before she smiled softly. “Even though I manage to get away with a lot more than everyone else because of my so-called ‘importance’, I’m still stuck under Arthur’s thumb. And just because I can’t die doesn’t mean that he can’t hurt me in other ways.”

Cruz’s brows furrowed, “What the hell does that-”

“Sorry to help and run boys, but Arthur’s going to pissed when he figures out that I tricked him and,” Elizaveta paused, scowling into the air as if it was a misbehaving dog, “I have to go deal with some _children_. I swear, _mindig valami_.”

“Wait!” Matthew called, but she was already gone, leaving only a cloud of flowers and the smell of tulips in her wake. Matthew sighed, waving the smoke away idly. _Well, at least we’re here._

But where was “here”? There weren’t exactly helpful signs scattered around the forbidden library, but Elizaveta had said that she wanted to help them, so he assumed that they had been led to a section about unknown queens or gods or some combination of the two. He was proved wrong when he picked a book off the shelf.

“Huh? ‘Godly Legends for Kids’?”

Matthew scanned the rest of the shelf, searching for at least one history; book after book, the focus was all the same: legends, mythology, old wives’ tales, campfire stories. Nothing of substance.

“This has to be some sort of joke,” Cruz groaned, voicing Matthew’s thoughts. “In a couple of seconds, that Goddess is going to jump out and lead us to shit that’ll actually help us.”

“She seemed like she genuinely believed that these books would help… Maybe we should look at them?” Matthew asked, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Like hell. Some of these are from my time and I read them when I was younger, so believe me when I say that none of them have anything about some ‘queen of the gods’.

“Some of these seem really old though.” Matthew touched the spine of one of aforementioned old ones, tracing the cracked leather. “Do you think she could be talking about these ones?”

Cruz scoffed, “Yeah, because old useless fairytales are way better than newer useless fairytales. Look, she said that Kingbrows would smite us or something if he found us here, right? We should just quit while we’re ahead. Some mysteries are better left unsolved.”

“But...I don’t know.” Matthew bit his lip. “I’m really not looking forward to whatever happens to me next. I was hoping there’d be an answer…”

Clapping a hand on his shoulder, Cruz sighed. “Mateo, it was just a hunch, anyway. A random painting we found in a hallway. It might not be important. We’ll find that Goddess next time and beat the answer out of her, okay? You’re not getting soul-stolen on my watch, okay?”

“...Alright then!” Matthew smiled tentatively. “I guess we’d better go before we’re caught and...I don’t know, cooked down to our basic parts or something.”

“Well, I guess that _is_ the only way that King could make such horrible food.” Cruz smiled, the edges of his eyes crinkling. “Now let’s run.”

Matthew nodded, turning away from the shelf and muttering directions to himself, trying to remember the way they had taken in as he rounded the corner. Cruz turned to follow suit when that old, leatherbound book caught his eye. On impulse, he leaned toward it and peered closer.

His field of vision suddenly burst into violet, golden stars winking at him through the purple night. He heard three voices--two male, one female. All three had a distinctly European tang, but the female's seemed to overpower the rest as the message rang in his mind.

_"Choose wisely."_

The vision faded away, leaving Cruz dazed. He paused for a moment before swearing profusely, grabbing the book, and tucking it beneath his shirt as he ran after Matthew.

~*~*~*~*~*~

"DRINK YOUR GODDAMN TEA!"

"YOU CAN'T MAKE ME! YOU'RE NOT MY FATHER!"

“THAT’S BECAUSE I’M A FUCKING GOD! IT DOESN'T MATTER WHETHER OR NOT I'M YOUR FATHER BECAUSE I QUITE _LITERALLY_ CONTROL YOUR FUTURE!”

“WELL, ACTUALLY, YOU CONTROL MY PRESENT, MOTHERFUCKER. SO FUCKING TAKE THAT SHIT AND SHOVE IT IN YOUR LOOSE LEAF TEA!”

Francis raised an eyebrow as Roderich chased Alfred down the room, hand outstretched with a cup of tea. Most of it had sloshed out by then, but that didn’t stop the aristocrat from screaming angrily as he continued to run before colliding heavily with a frying pan.

“Now that that’s out of the way.”

Elizaveta had appeared quite literally out of nowhere, shaking her head exasperatedly. “Did someone need me or was my intuition off again?”

“No, no, you were right!” Gilbert grinned. “Guys, this is--”

“Liz the psychotic soothsayer, we know.” Francis rolled his eyes and was abruptly hit in the face with a pan.

“So she’s Ms. Spidey-Sense, huh?” Alfred glanced at her curiously. “You told me when to plant the potatoes last year, right?”

“Uh-huh.” Elizaveta grinned. “You got a better crop, didn’t you?”

“Well...yeah?” Alfred scratched the back of his head. “I mean, you overcharged me and shit--”

“If you think that was overcharging, you should have seen your brother.” The soothsayer snorted. “He paid me in blood and sweat and got a raw deal, to boot.”

“Matthew visited you? When--”

“Irrelevant.” Elizaveta waved her hand, “Come with me, you two. Gil, Rod, sit here and argue about the rent.”

“I resent that.” Roderich sniffed. “Besides, we’ll be splitting it evenly, like what happens when it’s fair.”

“Excuse me? I know exactly who’s paying the rent this month--the richest witch of the west, this guy.” Gilbert snorted, jabbing a thumb toward his friend. “The two of us ain’t gonna butt-munch the one percent, Prisshole.”

“What are you insinuating by that?”

“Aw, c’mon, man.” Gilbert ignored the screaming Roderich, slumping in his chair. “Bend over, take a shit, and whatever comes out of your asshole will probably pay off this month’s rent.”

“I’LL HAVE YOU KNOW--”

The door slammed as Elizaveta led them down a long corridor, navigating her way around various corners with ease. Alfred jogged to catch up, trailed closely by Francis.

“Where are you taking us, lady?” Francis panted, his armor clinking merrily. “What’s going on?”

“I’m helping you out, duh.” She shot the knight a glare. “I’m also probably the only one who truly wants you to succeed, also--well, maybe minus Gilbert. I don’t know why you’re acting so suspicious--”

“What do you mean, the only one?” Alfred stared at her. “Why doesn’t everyone else want my brother to be okay? Why is it just you?”

“Oh, never mind that, you’ll find out later.” Elizaveta waved her hand. “For now, though, I’m just going to give you some of the information you need before sending you off on your merry way.”

“Wait, answer my question!” All three stopped down a long hallway. “How do we know you really wanna help us?”

The soothsayer paused, looking Alfred over critically before she answered with a smile. “Oh, Alfred, Alfred, Alfred. Don’t you remember how I used to babysit you and your brother?”

Alfred stopped short. “Huh? What do you mean?”

“At the orphanage.” Elizaveta gave a half-grin. “Do you remember what I used to tell you, or were you too young?”

“What the fuck is going on?” Francis blinked slowly. “What is happening? You’re around our age, right? How would you babysit us?”

“I’m a God, Francis Bonnefoy.” Elizaveta shrugged. “A Goddess if you want to be technical, but a deity nevertheless. I have been around for...quite a while now. Of course, back then, I didn’t have a permanent residence on your plane, but I did make sure to check in on my favorite little boys every now and then. Don’t you remember the old lady who gave you candy every time you walked back from school?”

Francis’s eyes widened as he recalled the short, shrivelled old crone who had passed him sweets. His mom had told him not to accept things from strangers, of course, but he’d relented for the kindly lady. The candies she had given him were unmarked, unwrapped, and honey-gold; they’d tasted like ambrosia from the Gods. In all his years, he’d never been able to find them again.

“You mean….”

“And you, Alfred.” She turned to him with her rather off-putting smile. “The teenager that looked like a younger version of me, that brought you all those fairy tale books?”

“Hey, wait!” The boy’s eyes widened. “You were whats-her-name--it’s a bit like yours---Beth! You were Beth!”

“Precisely!” The soothsayer clapped her hands. “At any rate, Alfred, do you remember what I used to tell you when I went to visit you?”

“Dude, why us?” Alfred narrowed his eyes. “Did you...know?”

“Wrong answer.” The Goddess grinned, Francis responding with a grimace. “I used to tell you that you were a hero, that you could be a hero. Remember that?”

“Er...yeah.” The American stopped short. “Why is this important?”

“I am the Goddess of the Future, boys.” Elizaveta conjured a frying pan out of thin air, spinning it in her hand. “In some ways you don’t understand, I _am_ the Future. I understand the way things are meant to be, the way things can be, in ways you don’t understand.”

“Get to the point.”

“Always impatient, this one.” The frying pan curved into her hand, fading in color until it was a translucent ball of glass. The crystal ball pulsed in different colors, and Alfred caught glimpses of random scenes--icy flashes and fiery tongues, people that aged in the span of seconds. “I am trusting you two--have _always_ trusted you two, because the pair of you were always meant to be our greatest hope--our heroes.”

“Your...heroes?”

“What kind of mortal can help a God?” Francis deadpanned.

“Granted, there isn’t much. But Gods need mortals. We need your souls and your loyalty. And sometimes--very, _very_ rarely--there are things we cannot do, And that’s when we call on you to lay down your lives for us.”

“Gee, thanks. Now we’re mercenary sacrifices.”

“In a way, that’s what you should be. We are Gods, after all. There are profound differences no being can gap.” She paused. “However, I neither underestimate nor overestimate your abilities. You have the potential to crash and burn, and that is what everyone else believes will happen. And that’s understandable.” She turned again, resuming her slow pace down the hallway.

“At the same time, however, you also have the possibility of finding that which you seek--of changing our corrupted system forever.”

~*~*~*~*~

“Er, so why _are_ we here?”

Elizaveta ignored both knight and loudmouth as Francis closed the door behind him, Alfred glanced around the room; it was cluttered to such an extent that it could only be her ‘hoard.’ In opposition to Gilbert’s, however, hers was filled with things Alfred had never seen--metallic objects, finely crafted oddities, and a large, humming box that flashed steadily unlike anything Alfred had ever seen.

“I’m trying to find something to show you...hang tight for a second...not this, or this, or this. Oh, Francis, you should take this. This would spur your armory forward about a hundred years.”

“What is--” He snatched the hunk of metal Elizaveta had thrown. “What in the world is this?”

“Alloyed tungsten.” The lady didn’t even turn around. “Here we go.”

She turned around, holding a painting in her hands. The back of the canvas was turned toward the two, The painting looked old--in fact, it looked to be the only old thing in the entire room of futuristic technology. Francis squinted and started to read the fine print in the back, but barely got past the letters ‘Art’ before the Goddess had flipped the painting over.

“Well? What do you think?”

Both mortals squinted to see the painting in the dark room. There was a boy posed delicately among a field of flowers, his long fingers cradling the stem of a single white rose. His golden hair was windswept, locks falling into his face, and his eyes were as green as the grass in the field. He bore a stern frown, his ridiculously sized eyebrows furrowed.

“He’s gorgeous,” Alfred breathed involuntarily.

“He’s grotesque,” Francis murmured with disgust.

Both turned to look at each other incredulously.

“Are you shitting me, bro?” Alfred raised an eyebrow. “I don’t even know if I swing that way, but he’s still looks pretty hot. Doesn’t mean I’d date him or anything, but he’s hot.”

“Clearly you Americans have never seen true beauty--which is strange because I have been travelling with you for so long--but that,” and here the knight gestured toward the painting, “is not beautiful. He is undeniably plain and his skin would probably shrivel under the sun. He looks like he’s never discovered a comb, for God’s sake, and he’s going to get frownlines in another, oh, I don’t know, day? Besides, no matter what he may have looked like, it’s all just blocked out like an eclipse by those hideous caterpillars on his face.”

“They’re not that noticeable, okay?! At least I don’t just fixate on one trait and use it as the end-all, be-all.” Alfred snorted. “If you do that, you’ve just got bad taste in men.”

“I’d pride myself on having better taste than you.” Francis sniffed.

“Ha! You wouldn’t know ‘attractive’ if it fucked you up the ass without lubricant.”  Alfred smirked. “Whichever person you’re going after right now is probably ugly as fuck!”

Elizaveta couldn’t restrain a snort from slipping out.

“Do you have something to say about my -- much better than Franny’s -- taste in men too?”

“No, no, Ar- Ahem, I mean, the subject of this painting isn’t _completely_ unattractive, it’s just that if you say that Francis has horrible taste then you’re insulting yourself.” Elizaveta giggled, before looking up and seeing the confused look on Alfred’s face. “You know, because Francis’ idea of a cute guy includes Matt... hew,” Elizaveta trailed off as Alfred gasped. She groaned, mumbling, “Oh _szar_ , I thought that this was the future where Yao told you. See, this is why I don’t just give information to humans; the futures are too close together and I get things mixed up.”

Meanwhile, Alfred recovered from shock. “You want to _bone my brother_?”

“Now, now, Alfred, it’s not like that,” Francis held his hands up in a placating manner, “Or, it sort of is like that, but it’s not like I’d actually act on it.”

“Why not? My little bro not good enough for fancy Mr. Knight? Mattie is worth like, three of you!”

“No, no. I assure you that your brother is perfectly fine. It’s just that I’m married, so--”

“You’re _married?!_ ” Elizaveta winced as Alfred’s voice reached a pitch only heard by dolphins and bats.

Francis ran a hand down his face, “I can’t win here, can I?”

“Nope! He’s going to punch you at least twice,” Elizaveta chimed unhelpfully. “But you can’t get blood on this carpet. It’s at least a thousand years old and Gilbert would kill me if I deep-cleaned an antique, so you’ll have to go outside.”

“There’s no time for that.” Alfred growled. “We’re doing this right here, right now, and I’m going to flatten the Frenchie into a rose-flavored smoothie that’s so thin you won’t be able to deep-clean it out.”

Elizaveta grabbed each man by the ear, and began leading the duo towards the parlor. When they passed Gilbert and Roderich, both offered goodbyes (Gilbert even promising that “if you survive, I’ll treat you to a couple rounds after this is all over!”) before Elizaveta cut a doorway into the air with her fingernail..

“You two can fight all you want out here. Just remember: After you’re done defending Matthew’s honor, you need to go see Antonio. It’s fairly simple to get there, just walk straight and as soon as you see the gardens, you should see him, super easy. Probably. As long as he’s not bearing the curse right now, because then it’ll take you forever to find him. In fact, you could say it’d be like trying to find a red rock in a tomato field.” She laughed at her strange joke, causing both adventurers to share a look (before Alfred remembered he was mad at Francis, that is), and suddenly straightened as she smiled.

“Oh, I almost forgot!” Touching the handkerchief folded in her hair, she whistled; a feather and a small smoky orb fell out of the handkerchief. The Goddess caught both, handing the feather to Francis and the orb to Alfred.

“Don’t smash that over his head,” she said blithely to the still-seething American. “You’ll need those for later--dang, I can’t believe I almost forgot!”

“Wait, is that one of Gilbird’s feathers?” Gilbert stood up and stepped closer, groaning when he saw that the feather in Francis’s hand was indeed glowing bright gold with an ethereal hue. “I thought I told you not to use those unless it’ something important! Two in one day? Over some stupid mortals? Come on!”

“WE’RE NOT STUPID, YOU FUCKING GOD.”

“I agree, _mon ami._ ” Francis gave a disdainful sniff.

“Damn, no offense, you two--but seriously, guys!” The albino sighed and fell back dramatically into one of the comfier couches; unfortunately, it was the one Roderich was sitting in. The aristocrat screamed as he was abruptly smothered by the drunk; Elizaveta smirked again and didn’t even glance their way as she threw a frying pan in their direction. It expertly landed on Gilbert’s forehead before rebounding and striking Roderich, instantly knocking both of them out.

“Don’t worry about what he said. Take it from me--you’ll know when to use that when the time comes. Gilbert may not know this, but you two are probably the most instrumental figures in our current theology.”

“What?” Francis stared at her, eyes widened--and was abruptly punched in the face by Alfred, who had finally lost control of his temper.

“Ten out of ten, but not quite a knockout.” Elizaveta laughed as Francis clutched his cheek, groaning. The Goddess grabbed both of them and began propelling them toward the door, which opened on its own. “Well, you should go now--time’s a-wasting, and trust me, I would know.”

As the two adventurers were shoved one after another through the doorway, Elizaveta’s last words came echoing back into their ears.

“Good luck, mortals! Remember, I’m still _rooting_ for you!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so short version? Junior year fucking kicked my ass. Second semester _sucked_. Also Iris and I weren't talking as much bc I lost my phone and SCHOOL KICKED BOTH OF OUR ASSESSSSSSS
> 
> also, we accidentally got two chapters ahead and technically I'm not even allowed to post this yet bc we haven't exactly checked it over and agreed to post but hey Iris isn't my mom, you know?
> 
> So, sorry, I get busy and this story isn't my number one. //shrugs
> 
>  **NEXT CHAPTER (coming lord knows when):** Cruz reads a book, the heroes meet Antonio, Arthur and Jeanne do things!

**Author's Note:**

> [Iris' tumblr](http://cantharidindeath.tumblr.com)
> 
>  
> 
> [My tumblr](hamsteakandpasta.tumblr.com)
> 
>  
> 
> [The Iris' ff.net](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/2345576)
> 
>  
> 
>  [My ff.net](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/2657679/nerdyfanchick)


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